


Blood Inheritance

by thewesterndoor



Series: Blood Inheritance [1]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Action/Adventure, Aged-Up Character(s), Alpha Simon, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Blood Drinking, D&D flavored world, Demons, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, I'm Going to Hell, Knotting, M/M, No mpreg, Omega Baz, Omega Verse, Swords & Sorcery, The thirst is real
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2020-07-12 20:29:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 96,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19952392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewesterndoor/pseuds/thewesterndoor
Summary: Simon Snow lives on the edge of a knife, waiting for the one wrong move that will finally throw him into the abyss. With his alpha urges barely contained and his magic unmanageable the last thing he needs is a job from the Mage, but Simon can’t afford to say no. The job is simple enough, but a chance encounter with a cold and calculating omega leaves Simon reeling and pulled into a mystery that has haunted the town of Watford for over a decade.As heir to the Grimms and the Pitches, Baz was never supposed to be an omega. He might’ve been forgiven for not being born an alpha if a childhood attack hadn’t also left him a vampire. Instead, he’s a liability, hidden away in the countryside with any freedom hard won. When a threat to his mother’s legacy has him risking it all, it brings him face to face with Simon, an alpha who just might be capable of tearing apart Baz’s careful world. Does he dare trust the alpha who is working for the very man destroying Watford? And can Baz allow himself to give in to his hunger?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sometime last fall my beta reader and I agreed that we wanted more omega verse and blood drinking fics for Carry On so...uh, I wrote this. It’s kind of what would happen if I wrote a Carry On D&D campaign, but with smut. And A/B/O dynamics. The whole fic is complete so the posting schedule will be determined by how quickly I can get chapters edited.
> 
> A lot of thanks are owed to nekoshka who beta read this.

“And so all we have to do is break in and steal a…what was it that we have to steal?”

Simon Snow stared across the rough wooden table at the man sat across from him, trying to pretend that he didn’t hear the sighs of frustration from either side. His two companions didn’t agree on much as a rule, but they had both been against taking this meeting. Penny had said that the whole thing sounded dodgy, while Agatha…more and more, Aggie didn’t seem keen on taking  _ any _ jobs. But what neither of them seemed to fully appreciate was that Simon was skint.

The two of them could both retreat back to their comfortable lives, Penny to the scent of vellum and ink, helping her parents with their research on the arcane, and Agatha to drawing rooms, dinner parties, and whatever else the eldest child of merchant bankers did. Simon didn’t have that option. He was down to his last few coppers, and nowhere in town would give him any more credit. If it was just a matter of eating, Simon might have been willing to cut things finer—risk a few hungry days for something more above board—but he was almost out of the potion that helped him control his alpha rut cycle and the lotions that masked his scent.

After he’d presented, Simon had gone through exactly one rut before he’d found out about the suppressors, and he had no interest in a repeat of that. It wasn’t  _ safe _ for him to go through that again; not if he didn’t want to hurt someone.

The man— _ the Mage _ as he insisted on being called—made a show of looking around the half-empty tavern to check for people listening in before he leaned forward. Carefully he pushed his untouched pint out of the way and he set his arms against the table.

“It’s just some papers. Notes and research that were taken from me. No intrinsic value,” the Mage said.

Penny leaned back, her voice just loud enough that it was clear she gave zero shits about secrecy.

“If there’s no value to them, why were they stolen? And why do you need them back?”

Simon could see the Mage stiffen, his mouth drawing into a thin line, though his tone remained even. “While not  _ valuable _ , there are some that would find my research  _ useful _ . My current work relies on some of those notes.”

“But surely, if they were stolen, this is a matter better taken up with the Watch?” Penny said.

With his fingers wrapped around his own beer—an extravagance ordered with the hope that he’d have work arranged by the end of the evening—Simon tried to keep his grip loose. He’d learned long ago that it was better not to let the punters see how badly you wanted the job.

For the last few days, trying to make his suppressing potion stretch, he’d been down to half doses, and already he could feel the twitch and flare of his alpha instincts. His skin prickled with the need to assert some kind of order.  _ He _ might know that Penny’s caution was for the best—and her instincts, not to mention her brains, were far better than his own—but the alpha didn’t. It didn’t help that Penny’s obstinacy had the Mage starting to throw off his own alpha scent in waves. Simon and Agatha’s fling might have been short-lived and over with months ago, but she was still an omega, and with the scent of another alpha growing stronger Simon had to fight back the urge to growl.

If he hadn’t done the occasional small time job for the Mage before—battling a goblin king, stopping a dragon cult, hunting a chimera—Simon probably  _ would _ have started to growl. 

“The Watch lack a certain delicacy that I require, and would take a great deal of time. I need the notes right away. Now, are you going to take the work or not?” The Mage turned his gaze onto Simon. “I came to you first as a favour. I remember when you came to Watford—I gave you your first job, didn’t I?”

The Mage’s voice had softened and he gave Simon a fond look—one Simon couldn’t help but be caught up in. He owed so much to the Mage; if it wasn’t for that first job, keeping an eye on some of the local toffs and reporting back, Simon would’ve starved. And it was on that job, when Simon had ducked into a doorway to avoid being seen, that he’d first met Penny.

When it came down to it, it didn’t matter what Penny’s instincts were telling her; Simon could never say no to the Mage, not after the Mage had given him a purpose and the closest thing he’d ever had to family.

“And it’s just a few papers?” Simon said.

He could  _ smell _ the frustration coming off Penny, but kept his eyes focused ahead, attempting to avoid where she was trying to catch his gaze.

“Yes, of course,” the Mage said. “It should be a simple in-out job. I’ve even gone to the trouble of confirming that the family will be out tomorrow evening. Just slip in, gather up what’s necessary, and slip back out. What could be easier?”

Simon could hear Penny mutter in his ear, “If it’s so easy then why isn’t  _ he _ doing it?”

The Mage either didn’t hear her or chose to ignore her comment. He scraped back his chair and stood up, pulling his forest green cloak around him in a way that was at odds with his earlier desire for secrecy. There was the soft clink of metal against metal when he set a small leather bag on the table in front of Simon.

“Half now and the rest tomorrow when you’ve completed the work.”

Simon hated how much the sound of the money eased the tightness in his chest and the chill wrapped around his bones.

Business settled, the Mage strolled out, leaving behind only the money, the lingering scent of alpha, and the untouched pint. Simon’s hand shot out across the table and he dragged the glass over.

In a couple of long gulps, he’d downed the beer. There was no way he could let a perfectly fine drink go to waste.

“I thought we talked about this,” Penny said as soon as he set the glass back down on the table. She had scooted her chair around so as to better give him one of her stern glares. “You’re never going to move up—get into a  _ proper _ guild—if you keep taking these sorts of jobs. A few days more, and I’m sure that there will be a caravan coming through town in need of some guards. Right, Aggie?”

Agatha twitched her long skirts to better settle them around her legs and levelled her cool eyes on Penny. Simon had a moment of hope that she might take his side, but then her gaze swung towards him.

“It’s done now. I think you’re both idiots. This was fun enough a few years ago, but don’t you think it’s time we all moved on? Eventually we’re going to get caught by the Watch, or the Old Families, and I think I’ve had enough. It’s all well and good for the two of you to play around like this, but neither of you have anything to lose.”

Before Simon’s thoughts could even catch up to what he was hearing, Agatha stood up and walked off in a swirl of crimson skirts, her flaxen hair floating behind her.

Simon looked over at Penny, his mouth agape.

“What was that?” he spluttered.

“ _ That _ was what happens when you’re an omega who’s reached a marrying age. I think…I’ve heard rumours that Agatha’s parents have all but set up a betrothal.”

“And so she’s just going to walk away? I thought she  _ wanted _ to make something of herself,” Simon said.

He could still hear the echo of Agatha’s words in his ears.

Penny shrugged and toyed with the indigo frame of her glasses.

“Things are different for us—for her. She’s an  _ omega _ ; there’s no way her parents would ever let her walk away from what that means,” Penny said with a sigh.

And deep down Simon knew that she was right. In most families omegas were barely let outdoors, never mind permitted to travel and work. It was just accepted that their place was in the home, having babies. He had once thought—hoped—that something like a family might be in the future for him and Agatha, but…it hadn’t worked out.

“I suppose,” he said quietly. “But you’ll still stay with me?”

Penny smiled fondly.

“Of course.”

***

From the moment Simon walked out of his cramped room at the boarding house and into the darkening streets of Watford, he had a bad feeling.

He shook out his shoulders and cracked his neck, focusing all of his attention on the walk to Penny’s house and trying his best to push back the dread. For all that Penny’s family lived in one of the nicer parts of town, Simon still had to be careful as he made his way through the streets—he had to be careful  _ because _ it was nicer. At the best of times Simon knew that he stood out as someone obviously not from around here. If he was lucky, he could sometimes pass for one of the trade workers going on a house call, but with evening firmly settled and the last of his suppressor potion taken that morning, he knew he was one run-in away from someone calling the Watch. And Simon didn’t want to risk that tonight of all nights.

Already, with the potion nearly burned through his system, his body had returned to its normal temperature and he was sweltering under his cloak. His sense of smell had sharpened an hour or two earlier, and he could feel his instincts pushing at the edges of his restraint. Simon needed this evening to go without any hitches—he could barely manage even being in Penny’s calm beta company when he was like this—and then he could retreat back to his room and try to hold fast to his control while he waited for the meet-up with the Mage.

One more day, and then he’d have enough to get a bottle of the suppressors. If Ebb was in a good mood, he might even be able to get her to throw in a bottle of scent blocking lotion.

The posh shops at this end of town eventually gave way to neat row houses, and as Simon finally approached Penny’s place, he ducked around the corner to let himself through the iron gate into the alley. This part was always the worst when he went to the Bunces’. He didn’t mind having to come to the back door to see Penny; if anything it was ace—the kitchen opened onto the small yard, and Simon had been pleased to discover that the cook was always willing to send him away with some sample of whatever she’d been baking—but the alley itself made his skin crawl. He’d made his fair share of enemies in the brief time he’d been in Watford, and he didn’t like to be anywhere he couldn’t find an easy escape or the room to fight.

With his neck prickling, Simon hurried along the brick walls.

_ Just a little further. _

When he reached the heavy wooden door to the Bunce’s yard, Simon fumbled for the latch. The iron bar clanged through the still evening and he froze, half expecting hordes of…something…to descend on him. At the very least, he expected Penny’s mum to storm out, her ink stained fingers pushing up glasses just like her daughter’s, and start telling him off.

Penny’s mum was not keen on Simon; he wasn’t sure if it was because she thought he was just another reckless alpha about to destroy the virtue of her beta daughter, or if she just thought he was thick. He could only imagine what would happen if she found out what the two of them  _ did _ . Penny had once told Simon that if her parents asked, her cover story was that she was tutoring him.

“Simon,” a voice hissed through the shadows.

There was a soft creak as the door opened, and then Simon was able to slip inside the yard. Penny stepped forward, wringing her hands. Her mouth was twisted in a grimace.

Simon’s stomach lurched, but he still smiled.

“You ready?” he said.

Penny shook her head. She started to spin the amethyst ring on her middle finger around and around, and Simon’s throat tightened at that sight; nothing good happened when Penny started to fidget with her ring.

“I can’t go,” she whispered, glancing back over her shoulder towards the door to the house. “My parents seem to have suddenly realized that they have children and they’ve decided that all of us are to dine together tonight. Not optional.”

“Can’t you just say you have a headache and sneak out the window?” Simon said. He was pretty sure Penny had actually done that at least once before.

Penny sighed, her face stormy. 

“No. The Watch brought Prem back yesterday and now both mum and dad are on high alert.”

“Fuck.”

Every hope Simon had held—every thought that had got him through the last day—was melting like sugar in rain. Already, panic was starting to build as he wondered what the hell he was going to do.

“Maybe it’s a sign?” Penny said. The hope in her eyes hurt Simon even worse than her begging out—knowing that she didn’t understand how much he needed this, didn’t see how fucking tenuous his whole existence was. “Maybe this is the gods’ way of saying you shouldn’t take this job. Just wait a day or two more for the carav—”

“The job was agreed to,” Simon bit out. His hands clenched into fists, tight enough that his fingers and knuckles started to ache.

Penny’s chestnut hair swung around her face as she shook her head.

“No! Just return the fee and tell him things didn’t work out—he could hardly expect you do this job on your own.”

“Well, I’m going to have to, aren’t I?” Simon knew that he sounded petulant—a word he’d learned when Agatha had once called him that in her icy voice—but he couldn’t find his way back to an even keel. Hormones were swamping his system and every thought, every moment of hard won control, was like wading through treacle.

He was an idiot to attempt what should have been a three person job on his own, especially while going through a suppressor withdrawal. But Simon couldn’t think of any other way forward.

He shoved a hand through his hair, tugging at his forelock, then took a deep breath before turning a smile on Penny.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “I’ll be fine, you just…enjoy your family supper.”

Penny’s lower lip trembled and she reached forward to grab his arm, but Simon quickly stepped out of range.

“Can you please just wait? Even a day?”

Simon shook his head.

“Deal’s been made. I’ll be fine,” he repeated, trying to make the words sound more certain than he felt. He would  _ have _ to be fine. And it’s not like he hadn’t done things like this on his own—they just never went as smoothly as when he knew that Penny was there to cover his back.

Before Penny could say anything more, Simon slipped back into the alley. It was well past time that he got this ordeal over with.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The stars aligned and was able to get this chapter edited pretty quick.

With each creak of the old house settling around him, Baz could feel his heart race and his breath stall, but he didn’t stop sifting through the contents of the oversized desk. He couldn’t afford even the few seconds it would take to look up and make sure he hadn’t been caught.

He knew the pages he needed were here, but after twenty minutes of skimming through handfuls of papers, all he’d been able to find were household receipts going back years, a few uninspiring thoughts on the relationship between magic and secondary gender, and drafts upon drafts of speeches denouncing the Mage. In another situation his findings might have been worth a wry chuckle—Fiona would have had a lot to say about the number (and volume) of turnips that kept appearing on the receipts—but at that moment all he felt was a hum of frustration, slowly escalating to desperation.

Reaching for the next drawer down, he gave it a yank. The drawer shuddered in place, but it wouldn’t open.

_ Locked. _

His pulse spiked and anticipation burned.  _ This _ would have to be where the pages were kept. He could already anticipate Fiona’s mocking laughter when he told her the story of tonight. From the safety of her small parlour, drinking whatever rot-gut she’d moved onto, she would smile and say, “Why didn’t you  _ start _ with the locked drawers, you numpty?”

Baz crouched down in front of the desk until he was nearly eye-level with the small lock, trying to examine it. One of the biggest reasons he’d wanted to save breaking locks for a last resort was that he knew it wouldn't be so simple as just forcing it; his father might not have been as paranoid as his aunt, but Baz knew that there would still be at least some type of trap protecting the drawer, if not an enchantment.

_ Why couldn’t Fiona get the notes herself? _ he thought wearily.

It should have been her skulking through Grimm Manor, or better yet, either of them could have just come to the front door and  _ asked _ Malcom Grimm for Natasha’s notebooks. But instead, with Baz only days home from the small monastery where he’d spent most of his time since he’d presented as omega, she’d insisted this was the only way.

So, Baz had left the safety of Fiona’s small flat to break into his own family’s home, risking the small sliver of freedom he held while his father didn’t know that he was back in Watford. He’d had to douse himself in scent blocking lotion, the layers of it thick enough that with every twist of his head or flick of his wrist he was sure great cracks would open up in the dried lotion, like vents in the earth, releasing puffs of his omega scent.

Tracing a finger over the cool metal, Baz let his thoughts drift and tried to attune himself to the energy of the room, seeking out spellwork. After life in the monastery, where the brothers tried to live as simply as possible—magic eschewed in favour of scholarship and labour—the first glimpse of the room was near blinding. Instead of the small match in the darkness that he was used to, this was a bonfire. Magic pooled around the room, twining through the bookcases and creeping across the floor. But there was nothing specifically attached to the lock.

_ Small mercies. _

He reached one hand up to the top of the desk and grabbed the letter opener. A spell would be faster, but his father would be able to sense Baz’s magic. And then Baz would find himself faced with the same crossroads he always came to—he could go back to the quiet of the monastery where he had to study in isolation but be allowed some small amount of freedom, or he could stay and be confined to the Grimm property—the omega child hidden away lest any of the Old Families think either of the ancient lines of the Grimms or the Pitches had grown weak.

The shattering of glass on the far side of the room and the flutter of a curtain were the only warning Baz had to scramble back towards the curtains framing the closer window. He slunk down into the shadows of the heavy fabric, readying a camouflage spell.

Across the room, a bulky figure picked itself up off the floor—a man, Baz decided, if the swagger and broad shoulders were anything to go by. The man brushed glass off of his shoulders and walked towards the desk with absolutely no fear of getting caught.

Baz wasn’t sure if he should be impressed or think the man was an idiot.

The man went straight for the desk, tugging at all of the drawers until he’d reached the locked one. As soon as he found it, he pulled out a set of wires from his pocket and started to work on the desk.

_ Definitely an idiot _ , Baz decided. Who didn’t check for traps?

Absentmindedly, Baz scratched at his wrists, wondering if it was possible to be allergic to the scent blockers—or maybe he’d just gotten used to life without. The man lifted his head, a slice of moonlight lighting up the broad planes of his face and gilding his curls; his nostrils flared and his gaze searched the shadows where Baz was hiding.

Scent hit him in a wave. It was a mixture of smoke and apple with alpha laced all through. Even on the best suppressor money could buy, Baz’s stomach still clenched, his head tilting to the side as if to present the glands at his neck.

At least the blockers were doing their job, and the alpha turned back to the job at hand. With a few quick twists of the wires in the lock, he had the drawer open.

_ Just a physiological response _ , Baz told himself, breathing through his mouth. He hadn’t had a heat in a year or two—possibly even three—and for the same amount of time, he hadn’t been around anyone other than betas or other omegas. 

Baz’s knees started to grow weak, and he could feel a pooling warmth in his lower abdomen. If he didn’t find a way to circumvent his omega instincts, he was going to be offering himself up to some strange alpha—a fucking burglar—in his father’s study, which left Baz one option.

He stepped out from the shadows, shoulders back and head high.

“What the hell are you doing?” Baz demanded, throwing his voice forward.

It was either give over to hormones or rage, and Baz was  _ much  _ more comfortable with the latter.

The alpha jerked, spinning around. His eyes were wide—Baz hated the way he wondered what  _ colour _ they were—and his mouth opened and closed like a gasping fish. An  _ attractive _ fish.

Even with the artificial warmth of the rage flaring up under his skin, Baz couldn’t shake the effects of his hormones. Yet another thing for him to hate about himself.

“You’re all supposed to be out!” the alpha finally stuttered.

The alpha’s voice was low and rough, and it scraped along Baz’s nerve endings in a way that made him shudder. He had to try twice before he was able to coax his thoughts back into harmony with the room and to pull up the lines of magic.

The moment he did, the alpha became blinding. If the layers upon layers of spells that had been imbued into the manor were a bonfire, this man was like looking into the sun. He blotted out everything else so that spots danced behind Baz’s eyelids the moment he slammed his eyes shut.

It was fine though. Magic was the quick solution, but he had other ways of seeing to this nuisance. At least some of the parts of himself that he loathed came with one or two perks. Perks that included preternatural speed.

In the space of a heartbeat, Baz had closed the distance between them. The letter opener was still clutched in his hand and he thrust it forward, aiming for just under the other man’s ribs.

Instead, fingers grabbed his wrist, searing his flesh with their heat and setting off ripples of need. Baz’s throat closed—the only thing keeping his groan inaudible. The alpha’s fingers tightened, pressing into the tender gland beneath the skin, and a corresponding thrill of pleasure traced through Baz’s body.

Coming in close to attack had been a bad decision. Baz was inches away now and all he could smell was smoke and apple, his body demanding that he close the distance and rub himself against the alpha; that he cover himself in that scent.

Grabbing hold of the ragged remains of his control, Baz yanked his arm free and swung wildly with his other fist. He was lucky and managed a glancing blow across the man’s cheek. While the man was still stunned, Baz grabbed for the pages.

The moment he had hold of them, the other man came out of his stupor. He pulled his hand free, but not before Baz heard the tear of paper and some of the sheets came loose.

And then the alpha was hurling himself towards the window. Before Baz could even think to throw something, to use a spell,  _ anything _ , the alpha had vanished into the night.

What the hell had just happened? Baz thought, staring out into the inky garden beyond. More importantly, what had Fiona got him into?

His chest ached and he could hear the unsteady rasp of each breath, but there was no time for him to pause. As brief as the fight had been, there was no way it had gone undetected by the servants—the whole room reeked of alpha, and the scent was almost certainly working its way out into the corridor. Baz might have minutes before somebody came to investigate.

Baz glanced at the page and a half still clutched in his hand. He hoped that there was enough in those papers to be of use to Fiona and make the whole cursed evening worth it. Either way, he needed to go.

He slipped out into the night and slunk back to Fiona’s. First thing he intended to do—after he told Fiona exactly what he thought of her plan in the most excoriating terms—was to take another dose of his suppressor and hope that the hunger still pounding through his body would subside.

***

It took Baz nearly an hour to make his way from the sprawling property of the family manor back to Fiona’s flat down by the dockyards. The whole way, as he waited for the hunger to die down, he cursed Fiona—and himself for a fool.

If he’d taken a cab he might have been home in half the time, but Baz couldn’t risk being seen, so instead he had to creep along the shadowy sides of buildings, constantly watching out for anyone who might matter. That alone probably added at least fifteen minutes to the length of the journey. 

By the time he reached the grimy staircase of his aunt’s building, Baz was ready to draw a fucking line under the whole night. He was half tempted to tell Fiona she could bloody well do her own burgling, leave her alone in this building that always smelled of piss, and head back to the monastery. He could go back to being able to walk outside; to his day not being regimented around when he’d last taken his suppressors, worried if his lotions were about to wear off; to people talking with him like they expected him to have thoughts more complex than wanting an alpha’s knot.

But even as he grabbed the suspiciously sticky door handle and let himself inside, Baz knew he wouldn’t go back.

They may have talked about magic at the monastery, but they didn’t do much of it. The need to do magic had been building up inside him, warring with the twin thirsts of his omega instincts and the hunger for blood until Baz didn’t even know what it was like not to feel that emptiness twist inside him. Staying with his aunt may have been wretched, but at least he could ease the need for magic.

And on the rare occasion Fiona would smile a certain way, or her inflection would shift, he got a small part of his mother.

“That better be you, Baz, and you better have Natasha’s notes,” Fiona called from the sitting room.

Baz shut the door behind him, then tugged off his coat and hung it from the stand in the small foyer. He didn’t know why he bothered—if someone so much as breathed in another room, the stand was liable to let his coat fall—but he couldn’t quite leave behind the civilities; he was a Pitch after all. 

Something Fiona could do with remembering about herself.

In the sitting room, Fiona was exactly as he expected to find her. She was dressed for the taverns that populated this neighbourhood in a loose blouse and simple leggings, her hair braided away from her face— _ stopped it from getting pulled in a fight _ , she’d once told him. Her legs were folded, tucked up under her as she perched on the large grey armchair. A glass was in her hand, and even from across the room he could smell the sharp burn of alcohol.

“You got another glass?” he said.

Fiona’s eyes narrowed and she jerked her head towards the sideboard.

“Get it yourself.”

Baz walked over, plucking up one of the glasses from the tray and splashing some of tonight’s special in there. There was a soft cough, and when he looked over at his aunt she had extended her glass out towards him, an imperious look on her face.

He sighed and rolled his eyes, but still plucked the glass from her fingers and filled it as well.

“Why do you stink?” she said once the glass was back in her hands.

“That’s the flat you’re smelling. Everything down here stinks. You may as well have moved onto a fishing trawler.”

Fiona set down her drink and peered more closely at Baz, her nose twitching.

“No, you smell like…magic. And smoke. And alpha. You didn’t stop in one of those omega houses on the way back?” she said.

Baz ground his teeth together. “Of course not.”

With a shrug, Fiona picked up her drink again and took a sip.

“I’m just saying, it would make sense if you did. It would certainly explain why it took you so bloody long to get back here.”

The few remaining threads of Baz’s temper were starting to fray. He downed his drink in the hopes that the alcohol might calm him, but all he got was a burning throat and stinging eyes.

“Why do you drink this?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“It’s cheap and I can get it downstairs.”

Baz threw himself into the matching armchair and glared at her. Fiona just ignored his mood and jerked her chin towards him.

“Well? Where is it?”

“Things didn’t go as planned,” Baz said slowly. He wasn’t sure how much he wanted to tell her about his failed burgling.

Fiona finished her drink and turned her full attention on Baz.

“Did you or did you not get Natasha’s notes?”

Reaching into the pocket of his trousers, Baz pulled out the pages. Fiona stretched across to grab them and spread them out on her lap. When she saw the rips and tears, she looked up, her gaze dark.

“What happened? This isn’t all of it—one of these is only half a page!”

A headache from the intense surge of hormones the alpha had triggered was throbbing behind Baz’s eye, and what had been a mild hunger before had become a gnawing need to feed. Baz pressed his eyes closed, looking for the fastest way through this discussion. He needed blood, a bath, and his suppressing potion, and much as he loved his aunt he didn’t think he could wait ten minutes, never mind however long this would take.

“Whatever you sent me after, you’re not the only one who wants it,” Baz said.

“What?” Her voice was sharp with alarm.

“Someone else arrived before I had the chance to find the pages myself. He came in and went straight for the desk—straight for the drawer. He knew exactly what he was looking for.”

When he opened his eyes and looked back at Fiona, her face had grown tight with an uncharacteristic concern. A moment later, it was washed away by a flash of anger, her eyes snapping with it.

“It has to be the Mage,” she bit out.

“Maybe.”

Leaning forward, one finger stabbing through the air, Fiona said, “Who else would it be? The moment your mother was gone, he was right there to take over with the Old Families. And to take over Watford. Anyone with connections either works for him or is afraid of him.”

Baz looked longingly towards the door, half tempted to just walk away. He could leave Fiona to whatever she’d stirred up, except…except it involved his mother.

“Why now?” He asked with a sigh, the possibility of this evening finally ending drifting farther and farther away.

“Because someone—one of your mother’s old colleagues, a friend, whoever—couldn’t keep their fucking mouth closed. It’s the only explanation. They talked, and now the Mage knows about her research.”

With a shake of his head, Baz said, “But what value does _ Material Requirements in Woodland Healing During the Vernal Equinox _ have for anyone other than an academic?”

Fiona rolled her eyes.

“It’s cute,” she said. “Very sweet that you think that was what Natasha was doing. She wrote  _ that _ paper as a joke. We’re talking about the woman who fought off a master vampire and its thralls by herself. Those fucking monsters can pretty much reshape reality around them, and rather than running away she self-immolated to make sure that it could never harm anyone.”

Baz’s stomach curdled at her words. He could still remember the aching cold of his mother’s workroom as the strange man had strode in; the feel of hands yanking him out from under the table; the teeth at his neck. He supposed it could be considered a kindness that the loss of blood meant he hadn’t watched his mother go up in flames.

“And what would she do to me?” he asked quietly.

Guilt crossed Fiona’s face.

“Not the same thing. You may be a princeling in Watford, but you’re a long way from being a master vampire. And…you’re a good one.”

But Baz knew that wasn’t entirely true. Neither his father or Fiona had said it, but from an early age he’d realized his  _ affliction _ meant that he could never have a normal life. Even if his family was willing to announce that the heir presumptive was an omega, no alpha would want him. Omegas were meant for breeding, and that was no longer an option for Baz.

“So what was her research on?” Baz asked wearily.

“Power.”

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The pace for posting is going to slow down a bit soon. I'm about to do some traveling and not sure what I'll have in the way of wifi, but once I'm back will probably settle into a regular posting schedule.
> 
> Thank you for reading ❤️

Simon’s whole body ached, heat blazing just under his skin. Slowly, he took one breath in and then another, trying to ignore the demands rippling through his body.

_ If I can just get through the night… _

The words kept circling through his thoughts like a prayer. He just needed to get through the night, past the worst of it, and get to the apothecary. Then everything would be okay.  _ He _ would be okay.

He pressed his head against the mattress and groaned, trying to ignore the throb of his cock and the pulse in his scent glands. If he gave into the temptation now, he knew there’d be nothing to hold him back from going into a rut. All Simon could do was wait out this first surge and hope that enough of the suppressors remained in his system to eventually stem the flood of hormones.

_ It shouldn’t be this bad _ , he thought miserably. He’d gone off his suppressors before, and mostly it made him frustratingly protective (Penny’s words, not his) and overly affectionate. There might be a headache, and he would definitely struggle with any attempts at magic, but the need he was feeling now was like he’d just woken up into a rut.

As if to toy with him, his thoughts flashed back to the scent of bergamot, cedar, and the sugary sweet of omega curling through the air towards him.

In the middle of that gods-cursed room, Simon had felt everything inside him quiet as the smell had twined through him, twisting around his chest and pulling tight. Heat had flared bright and hot, going straight to his cock. And then the smell was gone.

Simon had been left just standing there like some kind of idiot. The sort of idiot who didn’t notice another person coming into the room. Or, even worse, the sort of idiot who hadn’t realized he wasn’t alone when he’d broken in.

At first, as the tall man had stepped out of the shadows like a villain out of one of the shitty plays that Penny sometimes dragged Simon to, he’d thought this might be the omega he’d smelled. He’d  _ hoped _ it was the omega—a stupid, fleeting thought; had he expected the stranger to offer himself up for a quick fuck right then and there?—but from the man’s icy gray eyes to the angle of his jaw, it was clear this was no omega.

Omegas were soft and sweet. Even when they weren’t, and they were prickly and cool like Agatha, they certainly didn’t try to stab you with a letter opener. Or hit you in the jaw. Or move across a room in the blink of an eye.

In that moment, Simon had just been able to react. He’d found the pages exactly where they were supposed to be, and knew if he could get free, everything might still turn out okay. It was only once he was half a mile away that he’d thought to wonder why someone else had been there.

If Penny were there, she’d have blamed the Mage. Simon wasn’t even sure how, but she would have found a way to pin it on him. Of course, if Penny had been there, things wouldn’t have turned to shit quite so badly.

_ All her fault _ .

Except, it wasn’t. She’d been begging him not to take the job, and he’d chosen to ignore her.

Simon shifted against the bed, inhaling sharply as the sheets brushed against his skin. For half a heartbeat, he ground his hips into the mattress, groaning at the pressure and the slight friction against his cock, before he pushed himself over and onto his back.

Eyes shut, he tried to focus on each beat of his heart, on the feel of his chest rising and falling; anything to mark the time and take his thoughts off the hunger.

Gods _ ,  _ Simon didn’t know what it was like not to be hungry.

_ Just get through the night. _

***

Sometime during the night, or perhaps the early morning, Simon fell asleep. When he woke up, his sheets were soaked through and his skin was clammy, but as he’d hoped, the worst of the pre-rut had burnt itself out. Now he was just left with a more mundane hunger. At least that was easier to fix.

Simon pushed himself up and staggered over to the washstand. There wasn’t much water left in the pitcher, and it was stone cold, but it was fine for Simon to splash across his face.

With wet fingers, he finger-combed his hair. Normally he tried to keep it cropped short, but with Agatha had been too busy to cut it for him in quite some time. It had grown out long enough that he could see the natural curl in the longer length on top.

His fingers skimmed across the glands at his neck—still uncomfortably swollen—and he could feel an answering pull in his groin as sparks travelled from his scalp to the base of his spine. He sucked in a breath, hands already reaching for his scent blockers. The lotion wouldn’t do much, but Ebb added something to her formula that would make the swelling less painful.

Trying to touch himself as little as possible, Simon spread the lotion on, only whimpering slightly— _ in an alpha-like way _ , he consoled himself—when he covered the glands near his groin.

Task complete, Simon picked his clothes up off the floor and quickly tugged them on. As the shirt passed over his head, he could’ve sworn he caught the lingering smell of burnt sugar omega and bergamot. His belly tightened and his fingers fisted in the fabric.

He ripped the shirt back off and flung it towards one corner, his breathing already ragged.

_ It’s fine, just get a clean shirt. Probably time anyways,  _ he told himself. Penny was always after him to change his clothes more often.

But as he grabbed another shirt from the back of the small cane chair—not  _ clean _ , but cleaner—he couldn’t quite look away from crumpled ball of the first.

Thoughts were crowding Simon’s head, some of which he suspected might be important, but he didn’t have time to untangle them. He counted out his money and decided there was enough for him to go downstairs to the dining room of the boarding house and buy himself some breakfast.

He had just enough to get himself a cup of tea with milk  _ and  _ sugar, and most importantly, one of the scones. If he was really lucky they might still be hot. Then, he could go find Penny.

Despite the lingering wobbliness in his legs, it didn’t take Simon long to climb down the three flights of stairs and push open the door to the dining room. He waved towards the back where Bets was glowering down at some of the other residents. She didn’t exactly smile at Simon, but she also didn’t yell at him this time.  _ Progress. _

Simon held up two bronze coins and she nodded, gesturing for him to grab one of the empty tables.

Already there was a pot of tea on the table. Carefully, Simon pressed his hands to the white ceramic, yanking his fingers back at the scorching heat. He poured out a cup and dropped in a sugar cube. After a second of staring down at the thick brew, he added more sugar before topping it off with milk. The previous night had taken its toll and he needed to find comfort where he could.

As he was lifting the cup to his lips, a plate thumped onto the table before him. He glanced up just in time to see Bets, her wraith-like body already moving off towards another table. What Bets lacked in hospitality she made up for in baking—the scone in front of him was one of the few joys in Simon’s life.

He cut it open gently, feeling the release of steam. As soon as the meagre side of butter was spread onto the scone, it started to melt. His first bite was like eating a cloud, melting into his mouth in a swirl of butter and the sharpness of sour cherries.

Days that started with scones were almost enough for Simon to forget everything else sometimes.

Between breakfast and the lotions starting to work, he finally began to feel a little more human; like maybe he had some control over his life.

Simon would have happily spent the whole day in the dining room, eating platters of scones and whiling away the hours until it was time to meet the Mage, but his finances only stretched to the one. The moment he’d finished eating, Bets snatched back the plate and gave a pointed look towards the door. Simon had learned early on that it was best not to overstay his welcome where Bets was concerned.

The morning light was sharp as he stepped into the street, already compounding his lingering headache. He stood looking up one side of the street and down the other for a moment, trying to decide what to do.

Normally, his routine was to head straight to Penny. He would find her at her parents’ workshop and she’d help him with his spells. At the best of times, Simon’s casting ability was terrible. One afternoon, Penny had pulled out an index and had him try all the known ways of casting to see if there was something he might have an affinity for—they’d tried music, words, material components, prayer, and channeling objects—but nothing had produced more than a fizzle. Penny had nearly torn her hair out in frustration, telling Simon that she could  _ see _ his power in him. But if it was there, he couldn’t access it. And when he was off his suppressors, it got worse—more chaotic. Simple spells a novitiate could master would do nothing, but big sweeping spells would spring up around him without any thought. After Simon had nearly burned the workroom down around them, they’d both agreed he wouldn’t attempt any more spells when he wasn’t taking suppressors.

Simon should have gone back to his room to try to sleep a bit more, or maybe gone to the square to see if there was any work going. Instead, he cut across the street to the alley and started to make his way towards Penny.

He couldn’t wait for the evening to tell her about what had happened. He’d just promise not to stay too long, or touch any of the magical items in case they exploded (again).

The small workroom was quiet when he opened the door and let himself in. The plain front room was empty—apparently mid-morning was not a high traffic time for master spell workers or academics.

Simon’s chest eased a bit. He’d met Penny’s parents a couple of times, but he always got the impression that they didn’t like him. When he’d pressed Penny about it, she’d said, “It’s not that they don’t  _ like _ you, it’s that they think you’re dangerous. They’re part of the group who think that alphas shouldn’t have any magic, never mind as much as you seem to have.”

Simon had grimaced at her, trying not to feel hurt. 

“I’m hardly going to set myself up as an overlord though, am I? You have a lot more magic than me.  _ Agatha _ has more magic than me.”

Penny had shaken her head slowly, her brown eyes a little distant as she’d assembled her words in exactly the way she wanted.

“No. Not more magic. More control? Yes. But you…” She’d sighed, and her mouth had twisted into an expression Simon had come to recognize as unease. “It’s a good thing more people don’t know about you. There’d be a bidding war to try to get you on side.”

Simon had tried not to take her words personally. He knew that if there was one person he could trust—who cared about him—it was Penny. But it had been hard to forget. And it had made any interactions with her parents excruciatingly awkward.

Before a minute had passed, Simon could hear light footsteps from the room beyond. Penny swept into the front room, her sensible gray skirts trailing on the floor.

“What did you do?” Penny hissed the moment she saw him.

“What?”

“Last night! What did you do?”

Simon glanced around the room as if it might hold a clue as to what Penny was after, but the plain oak benches and the bare walls told him nothing.

“I did the job—the job we were supposed to do together.”

By now Penny was standing right in front of Simon, and she gripped his arm. Normally in this state of withdrawal, Simon would have been responding to any contact, but the feel of her fingers on his forearm just filled him with…it wasn’t revulsion, but it was a feeling of wrongness. This was not who the alpha wanted.

He fought the urge to shake her off, but he did take a half step back hoping she would get the hint and let him go. Instead, she gripped him tighter, her gaze driving into him.

“All over this side of town, people have been talking about the robbery that took place at Grimm Manor.”

Simon shrugged.

“I guess it would’ve been nice if they hadn’t noticed for a day or two, but it had to happen at some point. People tend to notice when things go missing.”

“But you don’t get it. The Mage told us that it would be  _ his _ things—his notes and research—and from the stories…Do you know how many people have come to see my parents today? They keep coming here hoping that it was my parents who arranged the job.”

“What? Why?”

“Because whatever you took belonged to Natasha Pitch. Only the greatest magician Watford has ever known.”

***

By the time evening arrived, the streets emptying as people drifted home for supper or into the taverns, Simon had grown numb to the anxiety that Penny’s words had sparked.

It would be fine, he’d decided, because it had to be fine. Because he always found a way to make it fine. Since his arrival in Watford, Simon had become the master of making do. Nothing would ever be perfect or great, but it would be good enough for him to continue to scrape by.

Why should this be any different? He’d turn over the pages tonight, go straight to Ebb and buy as much of the suppressor potion as he could afford, and then the next day he’d go straight to the square and sign on to whatever caravan was leaving right away. If he was lucky it might be one of the caravans traveling the Northern route, and he might have a few weeks of pay, free meals, and distance from whatever trouble might come up.

Simon pushed open the door to the tavern and stepped inside. The room was only half full, the smell of greasy meat and stale beer a double assault. Penny and Agatha both hated this spot, but Simon didn’t mind it. It was the cheapest that could be found without venturing closer to the dockyards—something both girls had declared was not going to happen—and nobody gave a shit what was happening around him. The rule of The Sheep’s Head was to ignore whatever you weren’t party to, which worked just fine for the types of meetings Simon held here.

He headed straight for his usual table, but stopped short when he realized that it was occupied. Glaring at Simon from the corner table, his mouth in a tight frown beneath his moustache, was the Mage.

Simon all but tripped in his hurry to reach the table. What was the Mage doing here early? The Mage was  _ never _ early. All of the anxiety Simon had been feeling earlier came back with a vengeance. He had to take a deep breath, pressing his thumb onto the opposite wrist’s scent gland in the hope that it would release some of the tension and help him fight the prickling instinct to start making demands.

The slight pain followed by the release in pressure at his wrist was enough to distract him for now, but it was a short term fix. Too much of it, and he would be back to where he was the night before.

“You’re early,” Simon said as he sank into the chair.

The Mage had already claimed the spot against the wall, leaving Simon to sit with his back to the open room. It was not what he needed when he was in this state. With no suppressor in his system, the sounds of the tavern—the conversation, the glasses thumping against tables, the people walking around—felt too loud and too close. They felt like danger.

Simon tried to keep his attention focussed on the Mage. If he tried hard enough, maybe he could get through this. Not much longer and then he would be okay.

Part of the reason Simon hated to wait for the caravans was because it meant that he would be away from Watford—away from Penny and away from the one hope he had of trying to understand his magic—but he swore to himself right there that he would always take Penny’s advice in the future. He’d politely turn down any of the Mage’s future jobs and stick to work that wouldn’t require him to look over his shoulder all the time.

He reached into the pocket of his trousers, glancing around the room quickly before pulling out the folded pages he’d stolen the night before. They landed with a soft thud on the scarred table.

Instead of the look of gratitude Simon had expected, the Mage’s expression grew even more sour.

“After the mess you made I would have expected you to be here earlier,” the Mage said. His voice was low, but each word was pointed.

“What do you mean?”

Simon’s heart started to race and he could feel the beginnings of a familiar itch, the one that always seemed to precede the nights he ended up thrown out into the streets for brawling. He clenched his fists, driving his fingernails into his palm, but the pain did nothing to distract him.

“What do I mean?” The Mage’s voice grew sharper, even as he spoke quieter. His eyes darted around the room. “It was a job any idiot could have done. You were supposed to get in and out, and leave no sign of anyone having been there.”

“Kind of hard to do when there was already someone in the room!”

“What?”

“By the time I got there, someone was already trying to get…” Simon waved towards the pile of papers. He chose not to tell the Mage how long it had taken him to discover the second thief.

A muscle worked in the Mage’s jaw as he stared Simon down.

“The person was there to get  _ these _ notes.”

“Yeah. He tried to take the bloody things out of my hand. I had to fight him off to get away.”

The Mage snatched up the pages, quickly rifling through them. With each page Simon could see the Mage’s body growing more and more tense. He couldn’t help but think of what Penny had told him. At the time, he had quickly dismissed what she was saying as rumours—Simon  _ knew _ the Mage wouldn’t lie to him—but watching the Mage now, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something was wrong.

It was on the tip of his tongue to say something, but Simon didn’t know how to put his thoughts into words—certainly not the right words, if he still had a hope of getting paid. 

_ Just a little longer. _

The Mage froze for a moment over one page in particular before he quickly folded the lot up and pulled them into his cloak, securing them in a pocket. His steely gaze snapped back to Simon.

“You’ve really let me down,” the Mage said. “I had thought so much better of you. But you can make it up to me.”

Panic flared hot and bright through Simon. He’d had this conversation with punters before, though never with the Mage. This was the conversation where they explained why they weren’t going to pay him. With anyone else, Simon could have let the small reputation he’d built intimidate them into backing down and honouring the deal, or have Penny break their wills with her terrifying command of logic. But Simon couldn’t do any of that with the Mage. The Mage was too powerful; the Mage had  _ built _ Simon’s reputation, and he couldn’t walk away from the remainder of the fee.

“What do you need me to do?” Simon said wearily.

A smile, one that Simon used to think of as kindly, broke across the Mage’s face.

“These pages don’t have quite what I had hoped, but there’s one last spot that might have what I need. You’re going to go there tonight—as soon as I’ve left—and you’re going to bring me anything that holds this symbol.”

From another pocket the Mage pulled out a card. On it was a stylized design of curving lines twisting in on themselves to form a knot.

“And it’s  _ your _ stuff that I’m getting, right?” Simon prompted, desperately hoping to see some response from the Mage that could set him at ease.

Again the Mage smiled. “Of course. You’re just reclaiming what’s rightfully mine.”

Simon’s stomach sank through the chair and he wondered what in the name of all the Infernal he had become a part of.

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m currently in the middle of rural Italy with only bursts of WiFi but nekoshka was amazing and helped me get this chapter ready to post before I left. Thank you to all of you who are reading!

Simon walked out of the The Sheep’s Head in a daze. After leaving him with instructions, the Mage had swept off, insisting that Simon wait at least five minutes before he left.

“Can’t have anyone connecting us right now,” the Mage had said with a laugh.

Simon had choked back the bitter comments that had swarmed towards his tongue and just nodded. 

He should’ve used the time to come up with a solution, but he couldn’t think his way past the change to his plans. He’d had everything figured out—he’d known exactly how to get himself back on track—and now…

Simon had never pictured himself having a future. When he thought about anything further on than the next six months, it was just a blank space. On occasion, Penny would talk about the two of them setting up a workshop for themselves. After they’d done that one big job and made enough money, she’d find them some rooms where she could start drafting spells for people and Simon would…even in Penny’s intricate daydreams, they’d never quite figured out what Simon could do. 

When he’d first met Agatha, Simon had thought  _ she _ might be his future. He’d settle down, they’d have children, and he’d find a job—something like working as a clerk in the Wellbeloves’ bank—but it had quickly become clear to both of them that they would never work. Eventually, he’d started to assume it all meant that he wasn’t supposed to  _ have _ a future; the goblins would finally catch up to him, or the dragon cult would be too strong, or he’d steal from the wrong person.

Apparently he’d been more right than he knew.

This all just felt like some terrible march towards an end. His end.

_Stop it._ _All you need is a new plan_.

Simon picked a random direction and started walking, letting his thoughts wander. How was he going to sort this out? What would Penny do?

Thinking about his friend helped ease the ache in his chest and clear at least some of the fog. Penny would definitely tell him to stop whining, and she’d think it through in steps. She was always telling him to tackle each problem one at a time.

His first and most pressing problem was the risk of a rut taking hold of him at any moment. It had been a near miss the night before, and Simon knew he’d be too much of a risk if he tried to do the second job in his current state.

So, how was he going to manage?

He swallowed back the bitter taste in his mouth and turned at the next street. His only option was to see Ebb and to hope.

Ebb’s shop was small, just a hole in the wall with nothing more than a counter and a wall of shelving behind. It was the sort of place people mostly came to for sweets and small glass vials that claimed to ease heartache or give you luck, but if you knew what to ask for it was the best place to get suppressors or blockers. Ebb had a way with her potions; she worked with a person’s own hormones, subduing them through harmony rather than the more common approach of dialing everything back to a bleak numbness. 

When Simon had first arrived in Watford, he’d struggled to find the right dosage to control his secondary gender—they were either insufficient, or if he could convince an apothecary to make them stronger, nearly poisoned him. It was only once he’d found Ebb that he’d had any success. But her work didn’t come cheap.

As he walked in the door, he could feel a soft chime ripple through the magical field. Simon wasn’t great at being able to read the fields or tapping into them like Penny, but it was impossible to miss them at Ebb’s place. Every breath that he took coated his tongue and throat in magic until his molars all but hummed with it.

“Simon!” Ebb said with a bright smile from the other side of the counter.

She quickly reached up towards one of the shelves to grab a small bottle filled with a warm amber liquid. It clicked as she set it onto the counter.

“I thought you’d have been round a week ago,” she said. Her eyes sized him up, and Simon was suddenly conscious of the rumpled state of his clothes, the reek of alpha pouring off his skin. 

Ebb frowned. “Your last batch would’ve finished days ago. I thought we talked about this. Unless you’re planning your rut, you need to take the suppressor consistently. At the dose I prescribed. Because of the way my spells work, it can start to get unpredictable once you’re off.”

Simon tried to fight back the blush he could feel searing his skin. It was stupid. So stupid. He knew that. She had designed the spell and knew exactly what it was for, but he still couldn’t get past the awkwardness of talking about going into rut—of  _ choosing _ to go into rut, no less.

“Have you started to have any symptoms?”

“No. I’m fine,” Simon said, his voice hoarse. There was no way he was about to tell Ebb that he’d nearly had to tie himself up to keep from jerking off the night before. 

Ebb’s eyes narrowed and she looked as though she was about to come round the counter, but instead she just nudged the bottle forward.

Simon wasn’t sure if he’d prefer to talk about his looming rut, or about what he needed to say next.

“I don’t have the money,” Simon said in one rush. His neck burned, but he didn’t look away. “I have half right now, but…”

The understanding that shone in Ebb’s eyes was more painful than if she’d just told him to get the fuck out. Ever since Simon had come to Watford, he’d gone out of his way to build himself into someone strong—someone who had value. On the day the priests had designated as his sixteenth birthday, Simon had walked out with just the clothes he was wearing, determined to never again feel as useless as he’d felt at the home.

Four years of trying to drag himself up hadn’t got him very far, but the small amount of pride Simon had earned shattered inside him at Ebb’s expression.

“It’s fine,” she said with a smile, pushing the bottle closer.

Simon pulled out his small bag of coins and set it on the counter.

“I’ll have the rest for you by tomorrow,” Simon said.

“No, really, it’s fine. I know you’re good for it. Hold onto this—I’d hate to think of you out there with no coins to bribe the Watch.”

Guilt twisted through Simon’s gut even as he felt relief wash through him. Ebb might be one of the best apothecaries in town, but nobody really came to her for potions. All the posh people went to the shops in their neighbourhood where they would be overcharged to buy little more than rosemary oil, and the people in this area mostly didn’t have the money for any of Ebb’s work. Suppressors and blockers were the first things to go when people had to tighten their belts, and Simon knew how close Ebb skated to making enough money to cover her own expenses.

He shook his head, trying to keep his face as determined as possible.

“No. That’s not right, I need to give you something. And I’ll be back first thing tomorrow with the rest.”

Simon sent a quick prayer to the god of thieves hoping that would hold true.

Ebb reached forward to pick up both the bottle and the bag, then held her hand out towards Simon. When he didn’t move, she gave him a goofy grin.

“Well? Are you going to take this or what? I’m assuming you don’t have the time to stand around arguing over this until I wear you down. Just take it, and when you come back to pay me, make sure you have enough time that we can have tea,” Ebb said.

Simon swallowed back the emotion that pressed against his throat and nodded. He took the two items, putting the bag straight back into his pocket but keeping the bottle in his hands.

“Now,” Ebb said, back to her usual off-kilter businesslike demeanour, “you definitely haven’t been having any symptoms? Nothing to indicate that you’re close to a rut?”

“Nope,” Simon lied.

Ebb didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t push.

“Good, because this potion is meant for long-term suppressing. If your body is leading up to a rut, it’s better to just have it and then restart the potion right after.”

All well and good in theory, but Ebb didn’t know what one of Simon’s ruts was like. There was no way he could go through one, and certainly not now.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Simon said, more a promise to himself than to her, before walking out into the street. He paused on the curb to glance down at the bottle again. Even in the deepening twilight, the colour was still vibrant and comforting. He pulled out the stopper and took a swig.

The taste of the potion had all the comfort of strong tea laced with honey while actually tasting nothing like it. Simon wasn’t sure, but the taste seemed to change from one day to the next, each dose becoming the exact flavours that were the most soothing at that particular moment. It definitely beat the medicinal rosemary taste of the more conventional suppressors.

He put the bottle into his pocket and felt the small piece of card the Mage had given him.

_ Right, time to get this over with. _

***

By the time Simon had made it to the address he’d been given, he had nearly turned around half a dozen times. The potion had started to work five minutes into his walk, and with the fog of hormones easing, Simon’s thoughts had become a little more clear.

_ I’m an idiot _ .

There was no way that he should be going into that workshop. If Penny were there, she’d be telling him exactly that. All magic users were a secretive lot, and with snares and wards being a chance for them to demonstrate both their creativity and their strength, it was generally considered not worth the effort to break into a workshop. Depending on who the magician was and how the space had come to them, any burglar could be pushing their way through  _ generations _ of traps.

Penny might have been up to the challenge, but Simon certainly wasn’t. If he tried to untangle the spells, he was much more likely to blow up the building than to succeed.

If Simon hadn’t been desperate and half-drunk on his own hormones at the time, he would have turned the Mage down the second he was told what he’d be doing.

But who was he kidding? Simon was still desperate. And there was no turning down the Mage. There was also the matter of the debt that Simon now owed Ebb. At least he knew she would be okay if he took a little longer to pay her, but  _ Simon  _ wasn’t okay with that. 

He shoved his fingers through his hair, pushing it back as he tried to focus his attention on his surroundings rather than his bleak thoughts. What’s done was done, and the only way out was forward.

The workshop was a deceptively small stand-alone building on the corner of its street. The properties around it had been pulled down, so there was no angle of approach where Simon could avoid being seen. The yard that surrounded the brick building was choked with weeds and wildflowers. It should’ve had a feeling of neglect, but Simon couldn’t help but appreciate the wildness of it. As a rule, town magicians looked down on any magic that used nature as a power draw, but the priests at the children’s home hadn’t had the same compunctions. 

The yard had been abandoned long enough that a charge of wild magic had already started to build up.Depending on how secure the wards on the building were, it was possible that the wild magic had leaked inside and started to warp whatever spells remained there. Just  _ another _ thing for Simon to be wary of.

Simon circled the perimeter, trying to attune his senses to the surroundings. With the potion working, his sense of smell was dulled, but he’d long since had to get used to working without it.

This part of town was silent as soon as it got dark. It was only large warehouses, shuttered for the night, and all Simon could hear was wind drifting between the buildings and the occasional skitter of vermin in the gutters. This lowered the probability of someone coming along, but it also meant that any noise Simon made would stand out should he get unlucky and someone did come by. 

Simon was always unlucky.

Circle completed, Simon made his way back to where he could see the front of the workshop, trying to keep his steps quiet as he slunk through the shadows. With each step closer, he could feel his heart rate increasing, and his skin prickled at the thought of what might be in the dark beyond, watching him.

Someone else had wanted the notes enough to break in and steal them from the Grimm mansion. Simon had a horrible suspicion that the same person would probably have an interest in whatever he was about to look for in Natasha’s Pitch’s workshop.

_ Just be careful and be quick _ .

There was a scraping sound just to his right and Simon jumped, his gaze swinging towards the sound of the noise.

All he saw were dried leaves fluttering along the street.

Chiding himself for spooking like a high-strung horse, Simon hurried through the yard and up to the small porch. He took a deep breath, his body tensing, and then set his foot on the first step leading up.

Nothing happened.

Simon’s next breath was a little easier, but he knew not to let up in his vigilance. His knee made a clicking noise on cold, damp days when he walked because of the last time he’d dropped his guard.

He made it to the front door and knelt down in front of it. Carefully, he pulled his picks out of his pocket and stared at the lock. It didn’t  _ look _ complicated, but that meant almost nothing. What Simon needed was Penny. He couldn’t trust himself to feel around for magic, so he was stuck between barrelling through and hoping there wasn’t a trap, or…well, that was his only option.

Simon reached into his pocket, brushing his fingers across the small iron amulet for the patron god of thieves, and then started to work on the door.

Either the prayer had worked or any traps had been saved for inside, because within thirty seconds, Simon felt the tumblers move followed by a satisfying click as the lock opened. He pushed himself up off his knees, grabbed the handle, and let himself inside.

Much like the Bunces’ workshop, the front door opened onto a waiting room. This one was similarly plain, but there was a level of magic here that even Simon could sense. His nose itched with it, and he could feel it as a buzz that skated along the tips of his fingers.

What sort of magician had Natasha Pitch been that her space still exuded this much power fifteen years after her death?

The floorboards creaked under Simon’s weight as he crossed the room, headed towards the door that would lead back into her private space. This door had no lock, and Simon took a moment to shake out his shoulders and check that the protection ward Penny had made for him that morning—after she’d finished chewing him out—was still around his neck before he stepped through it.

There were no windows in the room, so the only sources of light were what spilled through from the first room and a small lit burner that glowed red on one of the broad tables. Simon had the space of one slamming heartbeat to take in the short, green figure—handsome in the way of all goblins—slamming its fist into a taller figure’s chest, the man crumpling to the floor with a wheeze of air, before he was hit with the smell of omega.  _ Hurt  _ omega.

Simon didn’t have a chance to fight the fog that rose up through his thoughts, helpless against the instincts that drove him forward. 

  
  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last of my pre-prepared chapters, but I will be back home at the end of the week (hopefully with more chapters to follow soon after). Also, thank you to everyone who has left comments!! I don’t have enough internet to reply now, but as soon as I’m back with my computer I will be replying.

It was purely shock at seeing the alpha again that allowed the goblin to get the upper hand, Baz consoled himself as he crumpled to the ground. If the idiot hadn’t stumbled his way in, interrupting him again, Baz could have just dealt with the goblin, found the right book, and then been back to Fiona.

Instead he was being pressed into a floor inch deep with dust, his chest aching, the green bastard already moving in to slam his foot down on him.

The smell of alpha started to fill the room until Baz knew he would dream of the scent of apples and smoke. Each breath just pulled it further into him, igniting a trail down his chest until an inferno had started low in his abdomen.

_ No no no no no no _ —

This was not what Baz needed right now. The previous night, even with an extra dose of his suppressor, he’d had to spend a great deal of the evening riding his own fingers—seeking some small measure of the fullness his body craved—before he’d finally been able to pull himself to an even keel. It would’ve been so easy for Baz to tell himself that his part in all this was done; he knew that Fiona wanted him out, but...

But it was about his mother, and Baz—no matter how much he wanted to resist—couldn’t stop himself from doing whatever it took to protect her legacy.

So he’d pulled on his coat and, for the second night in a row, gone out to creep around in the dark like some monster out of the shitty novels Fiona loved. At least this time, there was no need to worry about stealth. His mother had set up all of the spells in this space so that Baz could be something like a key, unlocking them all. She probably hadn’t envisioned that it would allow a vampire to wander through her workroom when she’d set it up.

While that had been convenient for Baz, it had also eased the way for the goblin who’d slipped in after him. Baz had only just lit one of the small burners to start his search when he’d seen a flash of white teeth as the goblin lunged towards him.

And then the night had gone to the infernal.

He pushed himself up off the ground in time to see the goblin yanked backward by the alpha. One fist gripped the collar of the goblin’s coat while the other swung at his ribs. There was an audible crack, followed by a cry of pain from the goblin, but the alpha didn’t stop. He kept pulling the goblin down until it slammed against the floor with a heavy thump.

Baz should have been using this time while the other two were both distracted. He could have been regaining his footing, grabbing what books he could, and getting the hell out of there, or even just readying a spell, but instead he was mesmerized.

Growing up in a family of alphas, Baz never really cared for them. He hated the grandstanding; the sheepdog-like need to protect; the way they always assumed that as an omega he  _ needed _ protection. He’d never understood the other omegas at the monastery when they’d whispered about their dream mates—of alphas who would sweep in, protecting them, taking charge for them. It had sounded too much like giving up everything that made Baz  _ him _ . But in that moment, he finally understood.

_ He _ didn’t like it, but his body did.

The alpha was like a sculpture brought to life. Baz was captivated by the strong curve of his jaw, tight with anger, and the broad stretch of shoulders that his loose jacket did nothing to hide. When the alpha muttered something, a sword appearing in his hands, Baz knew that he should be concerned about the weapon, or about the ease with which the alpha sliced the goblin’s body from its head, but all he could see were the thick fingers wrapped around the hilt.

Baz shuddered as his mind filled with images of those fingers wrapped around his cock instead, or better yet, pushing inside him. Compared to his own slimmer fingers, he was certain that they would give him more of the stretch that he craved.

His body clenched at the thought, his cock aching.

Turning, the alpha looked over at Baz. His nostrils flared, and Baz realized that his own scent had started to fill the room, the sweetness of it competing with the muskier notes of the alpha’s.

Legs shaky, Baz pushed himself up to his feet, trying to ignore the instinct that was telling him to submit, to offer up his neck so that he could be scented or claimed.

There was no fucking way, no matter how many sparks that idea produced, that Baz was going to offer himself up to a stranger.

Except, when the alpha set his sword down on the table and took a step towards him, Baz didn’t move. He just waited to see what would happen next.

“Are you okay?”

That was not what Baz had expected to hear. The voice tore through him, setting all of his nerve endings alight and sending a shiver racing from his scalp down his spine. Baz felt as though the alpha was a magnet and he was just an iron filing, helpless against the pull.

He drew himself up to his full height, tilting his chin just so to give the other man the feeling of Baz looking down on him.

“Who the fuck are you? And why are you in my mother’s workshop?” Baz bit out.

All of his omega instincts were clamouring inside his skull, telling him he’d been too aggressive, too haughty, that this beautiful alpha was going to leave him and he needed to submit right now. Baz shut all of that out in the same way he’d been doing since his first heat had swept through him.

The alpha reared back, a look of confusion crossing his face. It should have made him look stupid—it  _ did _ make him look stupid—but Baz found it oddly endearing.

“Your mother’s workshop?”

Again that voice, low and rough, ripped through him. Baz had to grit his teeth, hoping that he could keep it together long enough to not fall apart.

“Yes.”

Taking another step forward, the alpha shook his head as if he was shaking something off. From this distance, even in the feeble light cast by the burner, Baz could see that his eyes were blue. And that they were darkening by the second.

Baz should have been concerned. He was alone with a strange alpha, one who was currently eyeing him in a way that made him feel warmer than he had since before he’d been changed. His own body was determined to betray him as it urged him to surrender, something he’d never allowed for any alpha before.

He inhaled sharply and was flooded with the mix of their two scents and the sharp tang of blood from the goblin.

_ Oh shit. _

Hunger roared through Baz until his vision narrowed down to a small tunnel and all he could hear was the heavy pulse of blood in his own ears. His fangs started to crowd his mouth, bringing a slight sting as they pushed out and also a relief.

He gripped the edge of the table. Hard.

“Why are you here?”

“I…I need to…find something?” The alpha said. His voice was confused, and Baz could see that dark blue gaze narrow on the movement of his own lips.

That, more than anything, was the small thing Baz needed to pull himself back from the edge. The idea of this stranger looking at him, trying to figure out what had just happened—what sort of freak he was—was enough to dampen his hunger enough to grab some small measure of control.

“Use your words and tell me who in the name of all of the Nine Infernals you are,” Baz snarled.

Instead, the alpha just frowned, looking around the room. The bookcase snagged his attention, telling Baz everything he needed to know.

This was one of the Mage’s men. 

It was stupid for him to feel disappointedthat this alpha belonged to the Mage, but Baz’s stomach curdled at the thought. It felt  _ wrong _ .

He quickly eyed up the room, noting that the only exit was to the far side of the other man. If Baz was smart, he’d just rush him, snap his neck, and be done with it, but that didn’t feel right.

_ You just don’t want to risk getting too close and having his scent overwhelm you again _ , he told himself. It had nothing to do with being too weak to do what needed to be done.

He couldn’t fool himself; Baz hoped that there wasn’t any remnant of his mother still left in this place to see his weakness. Maybe his father was right and Baz should return to the monastery, stay out of anything he couldn’t manage.

_ No. Fuck that. _

Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch might be an omega, but he’d never use it as a crutch. He’d do whatever it fucking took, even if it broke him.

He rushed forward, pulling the shadows of the room close around him until he was a blur of darkness. The spell would cost him later, but for now it was enough for him to get around the alpha until he was just behind him.

Baz had a handful of inches on the alpha, enough that his nose pressed against the soft bronze curls of the man’s hair when he wrapped one arm around his neck. He tightened his hold, pressing against the man’s carotid artery. The pulse reverberated through Baz.

All he wanted to do was press himself close until they were back to front and bury his nose against the alpha’s neck to seek out that pulse with his teeth. He wanted to feel his teeth sinking into the skin, the alpha’s warm blood filling his mouth and covering his lips and chin. He wanted to grind himself forward and get some release from the pressure that only kept pulling tighter and tighter.

He felt the moment the alpha went slack and he let go, dropping him to the floor with a heavy thump.

Baz’s whole body was throbbing, and he figured he had about five minutes before the flow of slick was going to start to become a problem.

He stepped over the body of the alpha, hurried to the bookcase and grabbed the volumes Fiona had mentioned. He shoved them into his bag before running out of there as fast as he could.

  
  
  



	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back home and returned to my computer, so time for another chapter! Will hopefully be getting into a regular posting routine.
> 
> Those of you who play D&D are definitely going to recognize some spells in this chapter lol.

Simon woke up to a raging headache and the smell of dried blood.

Tentatively, he pushed himself up to a sitting position, groaning at the spear of pain that shot through his skull.

Just to the right of him, he could see the goblin’s legs stretched out, blood splattered across its trousers. That fight had all been a haze. He just remembered the need to act pushing on his chest until he thought it would explode and then summoning his sword; already it had vanished back to wherever it went when he hadn’t manifested it. It would’ve been smarter for him to wait and see if he really needed the sword to handle the goblin--it could only be manifested once every few day--but seeing the omega in danger had pushed all sensible thoughts out of Simon’s head until all he could do was act.

_ Where’s the omega? _

He grabbed hold of the edge of the table and pulled himself up to his feet. Carefully he spun around, as if that might somehow reveal the man. But the room was still and empty.

Details felt a little foggy and uncertain—everything was wrapped in a cloud of burnt sugar and bergamot, with the slight cedar scent used in an omega’s suppressors.

What had just happened? Simon had never felt his body overwhelm Ebb’s potion like that before. One moment he’d been as in control as he ever was, and the next he’d just known that there was an omega that needed his help. And then when the threat was gone, Simon had planned on having a perfectly reasonable conversation with the injured omega. Instead, he’d been caught by  _ him. _

It was the same man from the night before—the same omega scent that had caught his attention then, rolling off the man in tantalizing waves. This time it had been easier for Simon to see more details. There was no mistaking him for anything other than omega even though he was taller than Simon, his features sharper, with the sort of attitude that only came with money and generations of entitlement. That alone should have been enough to turn him off, but no such luck. Simon had just stood there, frozen, his cock aching while every instinct demanded he go and check the omega over to make sure he was okay before staking his claim.

When Simon had been with Agatha, he’d thought he understood what it was like to feel that imperative, that demand to protect and possess. But this was different. It was like the terrifying inferno of his last full rut, as if something inside him was waking up, starting to shake itself off, and pressing up underneath his skin. Simon was being consumed by his alpha urges. For a  _ stranger _ .

Simon walked over to the bookcase and scanned the spines of the tomes that were left. He could see charring on some of the books and piles of ash coated in a layer of dust, but there were still a few intact. None of them had the symbol Simon was looking for.

In the dust, he could see trails where someone had recently pulled out books from three different spots.

_ Fuck _ .

There was no way the Mage was going to accept that someone else had got to the books first. Simon had been around Watford long enough to know that the Mage didn’t handle disappointment well. Up until this week, he’d never had cause to worry—the Mage  _ liked _ him—but now, all Simon could think of were the stories he’d heard from some of the old timers down around the docks and when he’d been out with the caravans.

Pressing the heel of his hand against his forehead, Simon tried to coax his thoughts into something approaching a plan. The only way he had any hope of living past the end of the week was to get those books.

_ How are you going to find some strange omega in a few hours? _

Except, the omega wasn’t entirely unknown, Simon reminded himself. He heard an echo of the omega’s dark silk voice saying this was his mother’s workshop.

Watford was a town that loved its gossip, and more than that, it loved its magic. If Natasha Pitch had a son, Simon hoped it wouldn’t be hard to find out who he was—or where he was living.

Simon’s body hummed at the thought of finding the omega, his pulse thick and heavy, and he had to remind himself that this wasn’t an opportunity to find his mate, just to get the books. Hopefully without being caught.

Simon took a quick look around the room to make sure he wasn’t missing anything, but with the lingering smell of omega and the charge of magic starting to build until Simon could feel it in his teeth, he knew it was time to leave.

His first stop was Penny’s.

Simon was pretty sure that his whole cascade of bad decisions lately could be traced back to that moment she’d asked him not to meet with the Mage. If Simon had listened to her, he might have been sitting fireside right now, trying not to yawn as some merchant tried to impress him with stories of foreign cities. And if he hadn’t tried to do the job without her, then…

_ Then I might not have met the omega. _

He didn’t know why he was being so sentimental. The man had tried to kill him twice now, and Simon didn’t doubt there’d be no hesitation to try for a third. All he could do was blame his hormones, the fact that it was almost impossible for an alpha to do anything to harm an omega.

With his thoughts lingering over sharp, pale features and still trying to forget the feel of that lean muscled body pressed against him, Simon crossed the city. Night had fully settled, and by the time he had arrived at the Bunces’ back gate, all the lights were off in the house and there was an air of quiet wrapped round it.

Simon stared up at the third story where he knew Penny’s room was, wondering what he should do. There was no way in the name of the Infernal he was breaking into  _ this _ house. If it had just been a matter of worrying about her parents, Simon might have risked it. Both of the Bunces were far more skilled than Simon could hope to be, but they were the types of academic magicians who became buried in whatever problem was currently most interesting—Simon and Penny could probably start summoning one of the nine, and her parents wouldn’t notice unless it happened to require a book they considered useful for their current project. The problem was all of Penny’s siblings. They were just as skilled and powerful as their parents—and Penny—but a lot more aware.

There was a very good chance that breaking into the Bunce household would lead to Simon losing a limb.

So what was he going to do?

He looked around the small yard, hoping for some sort of solution, but there was nothing. The only option was magic. Desperately, Simon tried to think through all of the spells Penny had taught him for an answer.

The only two that came to mind where Simon had any hope of success were the quick cast that could create a ghostly copy of himself or the projection spell that would shift his voice to her room. 

The apparition would be completely silent, meaning that if Penny was asleep, there would be no way of getting her attention. Also, Simon would have no way of knowing whether she was asleep or just not in her room, since the apparition couldn’t send information back. 

The projection had the advantage of being able to wake Penny up, but Simon hadn’t refined his control of the volume. It only seemed to vary between inaudible whispers or bellowing.

He shifted his jaw, trying to relieve some of the tension, then shook out his shoulders, closed his eyes and got to work.

Because of the sheer amount of magic in the Bunce family, it didn’t matter that their home itself didn’t have the same generations of layered magic typical of some of the more posh families; Simon simply had to let his thoughts drift and he was able to find a line of power to draw from.

“Penny,” he said softly into the dark of the yard, except there was no sound.

Simon prayed to Orpheus that he’d sent his voice to the right room. Given the fact that he wasn’t hearing it from outside, he’d at least managed the volume better than the last time he’d attempted the spell.

He waited another minute or two, watching for any sign of Penny, and then tried again. And again.

It took Simon four times before Penny finally came to the back door. She took one sleepy look at Simon, now drenched in sweat from the spellwork and with the goblin’s blood still splattered across his clothes, and she sighed.

“I thought you were going to keep a low profile,” she said, rolling her eyes; but she held the door open.

Simon followed her into the kitchen. The fire had been banked for the night, but the room was still warm with the lingering smell of herbs and baking. It was a smell Simon could only identify as  _ home _ . He wasn’t sure why—the home where he’d spent his childhood had mostly smelled of damp—but it just seemed fitting for a home…what Simon had always wanted.

Penny lit two of the stubby candles on the kitchen table and then walked to the sideboard where she’d readied a plate of bread and cheese. She set the plate in front of the seat Simon had chosen before finally sitting down.

“So…” Penny said, after Simon’d had a chance to take a few mouthfuls.

Swallowing slowly, Simon said, “What can you tell me about Natasha Pitch’s son?”

Penny sat up straighter, her brows rising up towards her hairline.

“Baz? Why do you want to know about him?”

_ Baz. _ Finally Simon had a name.

“Well, for a start, he’s stopped me completing the job for the Mage two bloody nights in a row.”

With a shake of her head, Penny said, “Not possible. Everyone knows Baz is off somewhere studying magic.”

“You sure about that? Because unless she had two sons, the man I met this evening said Natasha Pitch was his mother.”

Penny was back to toying with her ring, her lips pursed.

“He was definitely sent off somewhere. If his mother hadn’t…if there hadn’t been the attack, he might have stayed in Watford to be educated by her, but after her death it was decided that no one in Watford was good enough to train  _ Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch _ .” Penny made a face as she spoke.

“Some name,” Simon murmured. A name that poncy certainly seemed in line with the arrogance that had rung through the man’s voice.

Penny laughed softly.

“Yeah. And from all accounts, he’s a real piece of work.”

That  _ definitely _ seemed to track with the omega.

“But how do people know that if he’s been away for so long?” Simon said.

“I don’t know…it’s just common knowledge. Or maybe deduction. If you’d met his aunt or his father you’d understand. There’s no way he could grow up to be anything other than your typical Old Family autocrat. Throw in some alpha swagger—” Penny stopped herself and gave Simon an apologetic look. “Sorry, but you know what I mean. Obviously you’re a little different, but most alphas…” She scrunched up her nose.

Simon could only nod at her words, his thoughts tangled on the bit before—Baz was an alpha?

It was on the tip of his tongue to say something—to correct her, let her know that the man he’d fought with both nights had been an  _ omega _ —but he couldn’t quite get the words out.

Probably it was still the lingering compulsion to protect the omega, but Simon had the feeling that if the secret of his dynamic had been kept this well, it might not be his place to reveal it. Not now, at least.

“What attack are you talking about?” he said instead.

Penny pressed her palms to the table and leaned forward, her eyes wide.

“You’re kidding, right? You’ve been in Watford years now and you don’t know about the night Natasha Pitch died?”

Simon pulled himself back a little.

“No.”

“People still talk about it. Vampires showed up at her workroom. She fought them off single-handed. Saved Baz’s life, though she died in the fight. Rumour has it she set her whole workroom on fire.”

Simon’s thoughts turned to the charring in the room he’d seen and the piles of ash.

“When was this?”

“Umm, I was quite little at the time, maybe five or six? So about fifteen years ago.”

Simon tried to fold this new information into what he already had, but he still wasn’t quite seeing the larger picture. Why did the Mage need those books now? And why had Baz snuck back to steal his own mother’s belongings?

“What were you sent for?” Penny finally said after they’d sat in contemplative silence for a while.

Withdrawing the card from his pocket, Simon placed it on the table in front of her.

“After what happened last night, the Mage told me I could make it up to him if I went and collected all of the books with this symbol. Do you recognize it?”

Penny’s face had the familiar look of disappointment that appeared whenever she found out Simon was taking jobs for the Mage.

“Oh, Simon. Couldn’t you have just…hid out for a little while? I could have helped you get out of town for a bit.”

Simon clenched his hands into fists, his knuckles pressing hard against the table. With a heavy exhale, he tried to release the tension he felt, absently picking at the remains of food on his plate.

“ _ Baz _ beat me to the workshop, knocked me out, and then buggered off with all of the books I was supposed to grab.”

“Oh, no. Simon, tell me you’re not planning on going after Baz Pitch to get those books back. That would be a terrible idea,” Penny said, worry ringing through every word.

Simon did his best to smile.

“It’ll be fine. Can you just tell me where to find him?”

Penny looked down at the card still lying on the table, her brows furrowing, before she sighed and turned her gaze back on Simon.

“I wish you’d at least give me the time to do some research about this symbol. It clearly has some meaning, and if it’s related to Natasha Pitch’s work, it could be dangerous. Just wait a day or two.”

“Where can I find him?” Simon pressed.

“If he’s not at school and is back in Watford like you say...” Penny said slowly, pausing as if she was still hoping Simon might give up on it all. When he didn’t say anything, she continued, “His mother’s sister lives somewhere down near the harbour. From what I’ve heard—rumours mind you—he’d be most likely to stay with her. Especially if he’s trying to keep a low profile. The rest of the Old Families don’t want to have much to do with Fiona. She’s burnt her share of bridges.”

With a grateful smile, Simon got up from the table. He pocketed the remains of the food Penny had set out for him and then started towards the door.

“Surely this at least can wait until tomorrow?” Penny said.

Simon’s only reply was, “Thanks for your help. And the snack.” And then he slipped back out into the night. It was time for him to find one Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch.

***

Unlike Penny’s neighbourhood or the warehouse district of the workroom, the area close to the docks was still buzzing with activity, people staggering up and down the streets. Down here, once the taverns had shut for the night, the crowd simply moved on to the smaller establishments—little more than a room and someone with a bottle—that stayed open so long as there were people to drink.

As a general rule, Simon tried to steer clear of this area. When you were trying to stay out of trouble, this was exactly the place to avoid. Many of the alphas fresh off the ships took it as a source of pride not to bother with suppressors, and brawls here were frequent and vicious. The streets stunk with refuse, untamed hormones, and the cheap perfume that omega houses in the area used to try to mask the squalor.

Simon’s skin itched as he moved through the streets. With each rowdy crowd that he passed, his muscles tensed and he could feel his intincts urging him to take some sort of action.

There was no way that he could get the release he wanted, and the idea of taking out his frustration with his fists was tempting enough to make his jaw ache with the restraint of holding back. 

_ It would be so easy… _

But fights in this area had a way of ending with the arrival of the Watch. Simon couldn’t risk getting thrown into a cell for a day or two, and he certainly didn’t want the Watch taking too close a look at him.

Bracing himself, Simon stepped up to the door of his fourth tavern that night. Everywhere he’d gone, the response was always the same: no one knew anything about the whereabouts of either Fiona Pitch or her nephew. If he’d had the coin to spare, one or two mouths might’ve become a bit looser, but without it he was greeted with stony silence. Any attempts to press further just led to him being shown the door. But he couldn’t give up. Simon would tear down the whole area if that’s what it took to find the omega.

_ And the books _ .

All this was simply so that he could get the books for the Mage and be finished with that whole nightmare. He wanted nothing to do with violent omegas who had eyes the colour of smoke.

Inside, the bar was just like the other three. His entrance garnered very little notice from the bleary-eyed patrons hunched over their drinks other than a few mild glares. In one corner, a man was sitting on a bench, an accordion in his lap, playing something rude and out of tune.

Simon went straight for the bar at the back of the room. Trying not to wince, he pulled out a silver half-piece and put it on the bar.

“The stout,” he said.

The bartender nodded, picking the coin up off the sticky bar top. He gave it a quick inspection before tucking it into his pocket and grabbing a grimy glass.

“I’m wondering if you can help me find someone,” Simon said after the glass had been placed in front of him.

With a stony gaze, the bartender shook his head.

“Don’t know anyone.”

“No one?” Simon said, the whole miserable day creating an edge in his voice.

“Nope.” The bartender turned back towards the musician.

Eyes shut, the accordion player appeared to have ramped up to a favourite verse that he sang with real feeling, if not with all the lyrics.

“Well, maybe you can suggest someone for me to talk to,” Simon said, grinding his molars half to pieces.

All he got was a look of irritation.

“Nobody’s got anything of interest to say to you.”

Heat flared through Simon and he could feel the hum of magic starting in his bones, pushing up through his skin until it crackled around him.

“I just need to find someone,” he snarled.

The bartender looked up, his mouth already moving as if he was about to say something, but the words never made it past his lips. Instead he swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing; his eyes went wide for a moment, his knuckles white where they clutched the rag in his hands.

Simon wondered if his eyes had changed colour this time. Penny always said that this spell should have been impossible, particularly given how variable the effects could be, and Simon didn’t have the heart to tell her that it  _ wasn’t  _ a spell—or not in the way she understood magic. Instead of tuning himself to the surrounding magic, pulling at lines and twisting it into will, this was just…it was Simon letting go of some of the control he had to maintain.

In the controlled environment of the workroom with Penny, it was disorienting, but right now it was worse. Simon felt as though all of his thoughts were weighted. The sensation of his control gradually sinking down was sharper, and it took a pinch at the sensitive skin of his wrists to reel himself back.

In the time it took for Simon to regain that small measure of control, the bartender had progressed from fear to anger. Even with his sense of smell dulled, Simon could taste the sourness of both emotions leaking off the man.

“Get the fuck out of here!”

The accordionist stopped playing to look over and a few other heads turned in their direction. Simon probably had about two minutes before this went south.

“I’m just trying to find Fiona Pitch,” he said, his voice low and urgent.

The man’s gaze grew shuttered and he lifted one meaty fist to point towards the door.

“Get. The. Fuck. Out.”

One or two of the other patrons were already rising to their feet, eyeing Simon up.

Simon pushed himself back from the bar, lifting his hands in the air and trying to smile, though he suspected that it probably came out more like a grimace.

“It’s fine. I’m leaving,” he said as he backed out of the bar.

Outside, he quickly crossed the street and snuck into a darkened doorway, waiting to see if anyone was going to follow him out. The scar on his back, just under his ribs, was a reminder why he needed to take this precaution.

When no one else came out, Simon looked down the street for the next tavern. Clearly the Pitches were connected almost as well in the seamy underground set as they were amongst the Old Families—certainly well enough for no one to want to talk about where Fiona Pitch could be found.

Over the buildings, Simon could see the dark of night starting to soften from pitch black to a dull grey. Soon it would be morning, and he still had nothing. He was exhausted, hungry, and through it all—like a cosmic joke—he hadn’t been able to shake off the lingering pulse of arousal. He just wanted to go home, have a scone and some tea, and then sleep until this whole mess was gone—until the slide of his cuffs and collar against his glands would no longer make his cock twitch and his body ache.

His eyes were gritty and raw with the toll the day had taken, but he still saw the sign just beyond the next tavern. Swaying in the wind was a piece of wood with a rough picture of a cup burned into it.

He started walking and didn’t stop until he had reached the sign and was opening the door.

He could do something about one of his three needs— _ four, _ but Simon didn’t want to even acknowledge that urge, lest he break—and maybe he’d be able to get a little perspective. With the way the evening had gone, he already had no chance of getting Ebb her money; better for him to get something to eat for now and then he could go back out there.


	7. Chapter 7

“Why is there someone going around Dockside looking for me?”

Baz looked up from where he’d draped himself on the armchair the moment he’d heard Fiona stomping her way down the hallway towards the flat.

“Hmmm?” he said. He lifted one eyebrow, giving her his best look of bored disinterest.

But like the pro Fiona was, or maybe because she was one of the few people who knew Baz at all, she saw through him like a window. She stomped forward, snatched the novel he was pretending to read out of his hands and threw it down to the floor.

“I don’t know what Barnsley ever did to you, but that seems a little uncalled for,” Baz drawled.

“Don’t get cute with me. Half a dozen people came up to me tonight to tell me that there’s some guttersnipe alpha looking for me.”

Baz’s thoughts went straight to the alpha he’d left unconscious in his mother’s workshop. But there was no way the alpha could know who Baz was, or about his connection to Fiona. 

Except, Baz was clearly an idiot who had offered up the fact that it was his mother’s workshop. It would take almost no effort to connect those dots.

“You sure you don’t owe someone money?” Baz said, his tone even despite the heavy thudding of his heart.

He stretched out one arm, leaning forward a little to grab the book. It would be easier to lie if he didn’t have to look at Fiona. But she kicked the book away.

“Look you little shit, I want—no, I  _ need _ —to know what you did. Believe it or not, this is for your own protection. And if one of the Mage’s goons is suddenly coming down here,  _ for me _ , then I can’t do that. So what did you do?”

Baz looked at her, willing his mask not to break.

“I’ve been in all evening.”

Fiona reared back, her eyes flashing.

“Don’t give me that tone. It was for your own good.”

“You didn’t seem terribly worried about me wandering the streets of Watford on my own last night.” Baz knew he was pressing his luck, but he couldn’t help himself.

Stomping over to the tray, Fiona poured herself two fingers of her noxious drink and then slammed it back.

“Last night I still believed you could break into your own home and not get caught,” she said, her voice raspy.

There was no way Fiona could know about what he’d been up to that evening. She would completely ignore the fact that he’d looked after himself—that he’d left the alpha unconscious on the floor—and would instead only hear that he’d been found twice in two nights by the same alpha. And like everyone else, like Baz’s father, it would all come back to Baz being an omega—not  _ worthy _ of being either a Grimm or a Pitch.

He also wasn’t ready to share the books he’d rescued from his mother’s workshop with Fiona yet. It was small and petty of him, but for right now, he wanted the chance to look through them on his own. After his mother’s death, everything had either gone to Fiona, been looted by the other Old Families, or been thrown out. Baz wanted something for himself, if only for a short while.

Fiona poured herself another drink, lifting the bottle in silent offer. Baz shook his head. He’d learned early on, when he’d first started to get heats, that alcohol was one of the worst things to layer on top of an omega’s symptoms. Instead of numbing him, it just made his descent into the desperate hunger all the faster. It might have been a few hours since he’d seen the alpha, but he was still craving the feel of skin on skin, the weight of someone pressing him down and filling him up.

Even so much as thinking about the feel of the alpha’s body against his, the way Baz had been close enough to see the moles that dotted his neck—one like a mark on a treasure map, showing the exact spot on that tawny column of skin where Baz had wanted to press his lips and let his teeth sink in—had him growing wet.

“So where was this person asking around about you?”

Fiona threw herself down into her chair and gave him a baleful look.

“Everywhere! The nosy bastard went to the tavern downstairs! Mickey thought there was going to be a fight so he threw him out.”

Baz’s heart stopped. So close. How had he come so close to the alpha finding him?

His traitorous body responded with a further slide of slick, and he was all too aware of the throb of his cock where it pressed up against his undergarments. It wouldn’t take much more before he’d either have to excuse himself or risk revealing that he was just another omega slut, like all the others—exactly what his family had always thought—his control scattered at the first sign of an alpha who could tame him.

The worst part was the slight thrill in his chest, his hind brain celebrating the fact that the alpha was looking for him. But the alpha was looking for the books, he reminded himself firmly, and if Fiona was right and he worked for the Mage, then he was definitely the enemy.

“They get a name?” Baz’s voice was cool. If there was one thing he had learned, and learned well, it was to hide every single part of his omega side.

Fiona kicked off her shoes, then started to poke at the threadbare carpet that stretched across the room with her bare toes. She twirled her drink in one hand, the clear liquid catching the faint light of dawn that crept in through the window.

“No,” she said with a frown. “No one would talk to him long enough to bother with getting a name.”

Baz almost had to appreciate the honour amongst Fiona’s crowd of drunks and thieves.

“They did say he was ridiculously powerful though. Magic was coming off him in sheets.” She made a face, her mouth twisting into a grimace. “Too bad the Mage got to him first. The Old Families could have used someone like that.”

“Well, it’s been lovely, but I’m off to bed,” Baz said abruptly. He got up and started to walk towards the door.

“Got to make sure you’re all snug before daylight gets you?” Fiona said with a snicker.

Baz rolled his eyes. Fiona’s vampire jokes had grown old a decade ago, and now…now they were just a part of the familiar routine. Something he both hated for the way she never quite let him forget what he was, and would miss if it ever stopped.

As soon as he was in his room, he laid on his bed, not bothering to strip down. He quieted his breath until all he could hear was Fiona shuffling about. There was the back and forth between her chair and the drinks a few times, each trip a little more uneven than the last, and finally her heavy, stumbling walk towards her bedroom.

Baz waited ten minutes after her door closed, but as soon as he could hear her breath coming deep and even from the other room, he rose up silently.

He was tired of being kept in the dark, just another pawn for people to use—when they even decided to put him into the game. But he was going to change that. First up would be figuring out the last of his mother’s secrets.

To do that, Baz may as well start with the only other person he knew who was currently after them.

He quickly smeared some blocking lotion on his neck and wrists, and then slipped out of his room. A few minutes later, he was out of the flat and walking into the early light of dawn.

It was time for Baz to hunt down the alpha.

***

Baz pushed open the door and slipped into the tavern. Like the last couple places he’d been in and out of since leaving Fiona’s flat, it was a curious mix of the deeply drunk and the painfully sober. Side by side were the hard drinkers that still hadn’t left from the night before and the people about to start early shift work grabbing breakfast. It gave all the places a grim feeling of resignation, a quiet air that nobody was willing to break with anything so meaningless as conversation.

The atmosphere appealed to Baz in an odd way. There was something about seeing the normally rowdy taverns silent in the camaraderie of misery that was soothing. Soothing except for the almost painful hum of magic that was pouring off the alpha hunched over the bar.

Even the most bleary-eyed of the patrons were giving the alpha concerned glances, and no one was sitting anywhere near him.

_ Finally _ .

As Baz had wandered about the empty streets, he’d started to wonder if he’d been too late and already missed his quarry. But he’d dragged himself into one more tavern.

Even from the doorway, Baz could smell the barely checked alpha pheromones, that increasingly familiar mix of herbs and smoke. The scent traced a path through him, the glands at his wrists and neck feeling warm and his stomach clenching.

He took a quick breath through his mouth, trying to find some calm. If only he could shove down all the thoughts that kept creeping in—the too-familiar fears.

Pheromones from some swaggering alpha should  _ not _ have been enough to topple Baz’s self-control. His whole life had been centred around making sure that he never gave in to either of his hidden sides. But even with his system full of a recent dose of his suppressing potion, he was close to breaking. Just walking towards the alpha, Baz found himself starting to arch his neck so that the gland there would be presented. 

He straightened his spine, pulling his chin up, and focussed in on his target. And not on the broad shoulders that tapered down to a narrow waist, or the tight trousers that strained against muscled thighs.

After so many years of Baz trying to prove to his father that he could be as strong as any alpha—that being an omega didn’t make him weak—here he was.  _ What a bloody joke. _

The familiar twist of pain at the thought was enough for Baz to stumble across some semblance of control. He forced the air out of his lungs, ignoring the sounds around him and trying to pick up on the hum of magic.

Down around the docks it tended to be something of a dead zone for magic. All of the spots with an inherent magic, wild or cultivated, were either where the Old Families had built their sprawling homes or in the plots that had been claimed for workshops. Baz should have only seen faint threads, but instead the room was choked with magic.

It wasn’t as bad as when he’d seen the alpha at his family’s house—that blinding brightness—but it was still painful. Tears prickled at Baz’s eyes and he had to blink and look away.

_ Who is this alpha? _

He let go of the weak threads, his vision snapping back to normal. Quickly he crossed the room until he was standing beside the bar.

“What do you want with Fiona?” Baz said.

He rested one hand against the dark wood, trying not to cringe at the sticky pull against his skin.

Blue eyes turned towards him and went wide. The alpha’s mouth dropped open in surprise. It should have looked dumb, should have made him look like the alpha meathead he was, but Baz’s heart stuttered.

“I thought she might be able to tell me how to find  _ you. _ ”

The omega part of Baz went weak at those words. His lower abdomen clenched and pressure began to build in his chest.

“What do you want with  _ me _ , then?” Baz had to fight for the icy control in his voice.

This close, the scent of the alpha was strong—even stronger than their earlier encounter—and Baz’s whole body grew hot. If he hadn’t been holding himself so stiffly, he would’ve swayed forward until he was able to press close and seek out that scent.

“Who are you?” he pressed.

The alpha’s eyes narrowed on Baz, his gaze raking up and down. In its wake, Baz felt trails of electricity across his skin, and when it lingered on his neck and wrists he couldn’t hold back a shudder.

“Simon Snow,” the alpha said.

One of his hands had moved along the bar top until it was inches away from Baz’s hand. Baz wanted to push his fingers forward to close the distance; he wanted to feel the trail of those blunt fingers along his skin. Instead he balled his hand into a fist.

“What do you want with me,  _ Snow? _ ” Baz said, sneering the alpha’s name.

Anger swept across Snow’s face, chased by weariness. 

He was so open, so easy to read. How could people treat Baz like  _ he _ was the weak one? And why did he feel prickles of regret at seeing the alpha angry?

“I want to know what you’re up to,” Snow seethed. “Why can’t you just leave the Mage alone? Why can’t you leave me alone?”

Pain bloomed in Baz’s chest and his glands began to itch more fiercely.

_ It’s just the omega _ , he told himself. It was simply the natural reaction of an omega being rejected by an alpha. Nothing more. And it was something he had trained himself to ignore.

Baz’s voice was icy as he spoke.

“I don’t know what passes for logic in your pheromone drunk brain, but  _ you _ broke into  _ my  _ family home. Into  _ my mother’s _ workshop. If we were to go get the Watch right now, there’s only one of us that would be thrown into a cell. An alpha cock and a bit of magic doesn’t mean that you’re anything better than some two-copper thug.” To emphasize his point, Baz dropped his gaze to the crotch of the alpha’s tight breeches.

_ Wrong move. _

It was supposed to allow him to be dismissive. Instead, his mouth went dry as he saw the outline of something promisingly thick and long pressing up against the fabric. Baz inhaled sharply, Snow’s scent hitting him in a stronger wave.

His body was melting. So was his control. Already, he could smell the sweet scent of his pheromones—of his slick—starting to overpower the woodsy blocking lotion. And all around them was the feel of magic starting to build.

Snow’s eyes were dark as he slowly reached out. One hand grabbed hold of Baz’s wrist, and Baz felt a thumb sliding against the gland there, pressing into it.

He bit back a moan—managed to catch it before he could give away how much the simple touch affected him. Fire twisted through his body, burning away all of his thoughts. With each slide of Snow’s thumb against his skin he could feel himself sinking further into the haze of need.

Snow yanked his hand back, standing up quick enough to set his stool toppling over behind him. Baz didn’t need to be able to see magic to know that it was pouring off of the angry alpha. He could feel it like a warm rush over his skin, tempting him closer.

“What are you doing to me?” Snow’s voice was ragged. “This is all some plot, right? Something to stop us getting those books back.”

“There’s no getting those books  _ back _ ,” Baz said, grateful that his voice at least didn’t betray him. “They belonged to my mother. They have always belonged to my mother. “

Snow just stood there, silent, looking at Baz.

_ Why aren’t you saying something? Why aren’t you leaving? _

Baz needed Snow to do something. It was taking all of his effort to stay upright—to stop himself from offering himself up for the taking. Slick had worked its way down to his thighs, and he felt an aching emptiness inside.

_ I need to leave _ .

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Fiona’s voice hissed in his ear before her nails dug into his shoulder and yanked him backwards. Her dark expression turned on Snow and she gave him a murderous glare. “Stay the fuck away from us. You  _ and  _ the Mage.”

Fiona’s grip moved to Baz’s upper arm, and she dragged him after her as she stormed out of the tavern. Baz should have been able to shake off her hold easily, but his thoughts were still so clouded that it didn’t occur to him until she finally stopped and let him go a block from her flat.

“What were you thinking?” Her voice had changed to a deadly calm.

Baz shrugged. “It seemed the most expeditious way of handling this—”

“Don’t get that attitude with me,” Fiona sneered. “Omegas who offer themselves up to strange alphas in a fucking dive don’t get to have an attitude.”

“I wasn’t offering myself up, I was—”

“You were a couple minutes away from begging him for a knot.”

Fiona’s words sliced a path through Baz, stalling his breath.

“It wasn’t that bad,” he whispered.

She just lifted an eyebrow before she started to walk again.

“You want an alpha that badly,” she called back over her shoulder with a shrug, “it doesn’t make much of a difference to me. But I’d suggest you stay away from the one that’s working with the man determined to ruin your mother’s legacy.”

Baz stared at Fiona’s retreating back, watching her walk away. 

What was there to say? She wasn’t wrong.

He trailed after her, and by the time he’d made it back to the flat, the door to her bedroom was shut. Baz slunk past it and let himself into his own room.

Throwing himself down onto the bed, he tried to pick apart his thoughts. If he could name the emotions tearing through him, then maybe he could let them go; it had always worked in the past. But this time, he was drowning in each new swell of feelings.

Mostly it was choking anxiety and the shame of having disappointed Fiona. Baz was from two of the best families in Watford; he was one of the most accomplished mages of his age _ and _ a vampire, but a few whiffs of an alpha and he’d been acting like he was in heat. The absolute worst part of it was the lingering arousal.

Baz loosened the fastening of his trousers and wrapped a hand around his cock. Despite everything—Fiona’s words, the walk back, all rational thought—Baz was still half-hard. He shut his eyes, the image of Snow floating before him. His gut clenched and it was like a coil inside him was tightening.

He traced his fingers along his length, his body shivering at even the lightest contact. Reaching lower, he allowed his fingers to drift towards where he was aching to be filled. With one finger, he traced the soft skin of his entrance, feeling the slide of slick. When he brought his hand back up, he saw the gleam of it on his fingers.

Raising his wrist up to his nose, Baz searched for some lingering trace of the alpha’s touch. It was almost drowned out by Baz’s own sugary smell, but he caught a faint note of smoke.

A thrill coursed through him and his body shuddered, his cock pulsing.

Baz pressed against the gland at his wrist, remembering the feel of Snow’s touch. He could feel heat unfurl itself, starting in his core and spreading out until he could feel it pressing up against his skin and he had to reach back down. He pressed one finger inside himself, his body clenching around the invasion as more slick leaked out.

_ What would it be like with Snow’s fingers? _

The alpha’s fingers had looked a little shorter than Baz’s, but they’d also been thicker. Baz had to hold back a groan as the thought of the alpha stretching him open and taking him apart had his body seeming to catch fire from within.

Desperately Baz pushed another finger in, his other hand pumping his cock as he worked himself towards a climax.

_ I just need to cum and then it will be fine.  _ He had to get rid of the need drawing his body tight, and then he could move on.

Except when his orgasm finally swept through him, his body clenching around his fingers as he released across his stomach and his breathing went ragged, the hunger still didn’t lift. It was a little better—Baz might even be able to pretend that he had some control left—but it hadn’t been enough.

_ It will have to be _ , he told himself as he staggered over to the wash basin and cleaned up. He’d find some way to fix himself, whether it took increasing the strength of his suppressor or…Baz pressed the heels of his palms against his eyelids and sighed.

This was pointless. His thoughts were too foggy for him to start making any plans. 

He fumbled with the shutters over his window until the room descended into darkness. Baz’s eyes were stinging with the need to sleep, and his whole body felt lethargic from the daylight. He’d sleep first, and later he would figure it all out—he would find a way to win.

  
  



	8. Chapter 8

After Simon had left, Penny had given up on sleep. Instead of returning to her room, she’d gone straight to her family’s library. She’d been so close to changing into her working clothes and running after him, but there was no way she wouldn’t get caught. After the previous time, Penny couldn’t run that risk again.

So instead, she did what she did best, and started to plan.

If there was going to be any hope of Simon coming out of this unscathed, one of them needed to get something together, and while Simon could be counted on for anything that required guts, instincts, or just sheer magic power, he was forever charging forward without thought.

Inside the library, Penny turned on the lamps and then went to one of the shelves and pulled out a broad book. The title stamped along the side was  _ The Migratory Patterns of Western Cephalopods _ , but underneath the cover was a hollow space. It was a crude hiding spot, and one that had taken Penny a good day to make, but it worked. And while her parents were unlikely to look through her room, she wasn’t so sure about her siblings.

She pulled out the notebook hidden inside and settled down at the broad table that ran most of the length of the small room.

By the time dawn had given way to morning, Penny had several pages worth of notes outlining a plan of attack, and she’d moved on to what limited research she could do with the family’s modest home collection.

There was a thump as a mug was placed in front of her, and tea scented steam drifted up towards her. Penny blinked for a moment, her exhausted brain registering items one at a time; the dark green mug, the hand letting it go. When she turned to look up at the owner of the hand, she found her mum staring down at her, concern in the twist of her lips.

“You haven’t been here all night have you?”

Penny tried to keep her breathing normal and her hands still. She wanted to shove her notebook under one of the books scattered around her, or maybe fling her body over it.

“Just had an idea in the middle of the night and wanted to chase it down before I forget,” Penny said. She reached for the tea, using her elbow to casually push the notebook to the side. “Is this for me?”

Her mother nodded, gaze moving to the books spread around. She reached over to grab one and started to leaf through the pages. Penny watched carefully, taking a sip of tea as her heart thudded in her throat.

“You’ve started to take an interest in power limitations?” Her mother’s voice was distant, already focussed more on the pages in front of her than on Penny.

“What makes you say that?”

Mitali Bunce’s eyes looked up, an odd expression on her face.

“Penny, I may be your mother, but I’m not an idiot. You’re sitting here with three books about Natasha Grimm-Pitch’s research. What else could it be?”

“Yeah, you got me,” Penny said weakly as her thoughts started to race.

With a sigh, her mother set the book back down on top of the others and shook her head.

“It’s really not worth your time,” Mitali said in that way that made it clear this was for Penny’s Own Good, before continuing, “No one has ever had any success—not even Natasha. It’s a dead end. You would be better off continuing to work with me.”

“The effect of rivers on the movement of wild magic?”

Her mother sighed again and shrugged.

“I suppose everyone needs to go through this phase; your father and I certainly did.”

“What? Really?”

For as long as Penny could remember, both of her parents had been interested only in magical geography—the movement and pooling of magic. She couldn’t imagine them doing anything else.

“It was exciting, I suppose. Everyone wanted to be the first to find out how much power a single person could hold…what you could do to…well, eventually we realized—as you will—that it just doesn’t matter. It’s faster and safer to simply pull magic from the atmosphere rather than keep it within you.”

Penny pressed her teeth against her bottom lip and tried to put an order to the questions that kept popping up. What could she safely ask without alerting her mother’s suspicions?

Before she could say anything, her mother continued to speak.

“This is why I want you to be careful around your friend.”

“Simon?”

“People seem to think that the more power within a person, the better, but that just makes them unstable. And when it’s an alpha who has that power…”

Eyes narrowing, Penny had to remind herself that she needed to stay calm.

“Simon’s not dangerous,” she said.

Mitali gave Penny a sad look. “He might not want to be, but he’s like a spell stone left lying around. At some point he’s going to go off. Without control—”

“He’s working on that.”

With a pat to Penny’s head, Mitali started to walk away. Before she could reach the door, Penny turned and called out, “Do you still have your books? The ones from before, when you were still doing research on power limitations?”

Her mother paused in the doorway, her gaze considering, before she nodded.

“I got rid of all of mine, but your father should still have some in the workshop. Just…if you’re going to follow this, be careful. Remember your family; remember Micah; make sure that you don’t do anything that could jeopardize your future.

“Of course,” Penny said quickly, though she wasn’t sure that either of them believed her words. After all, Simon was her best friend, and if she didn’t pull him out of his mess then who would?

***

The Central Square bell had just rung for noon, the final echoes fading out, when Simon showed up at the Bunces’ workshop. Penny’s brain felt as though it had been scraped up and down a washboard and her back ached from the hours she’d spent in the workshop chairs with a book in front of her.

She wasn’t sure whether she was pleased or concerned that Simon looked as though he’d gotten as little sleep as she had. His skin was washed out and there were bags under his eyes, and instead of the normal low hum that followed Simon wherever he went, magic was popping around him.

“What happened?” Penny hissed. She walked over to the door of the reading room and closed it quickly, muttering a quick soundproofing charm.

“Well, I found him.”

Simon threw himself down into one of the cane chairs, the wood creaking with the force. It was only practice that stopped Penny from wincing. At least she’d become good at all of her mending spells.

“But what  _ happened _ ? You look awful.”

There was a pause as Simon toyed with the hem of his shirt before he finally looked up.

“Are there…are there spells to bring on an alpha’s rut?” Simon’s voice was so quiet that Penny nearly missed the words.

“Well, there’s the potions that alphas can use when their rut isn’t synchronized with their omega’s heat…” Penny wasn’t sure what Simon was asking, but she couldn’t shake the impression that it was somehow important to him.

He shook his head, his curls tumbling over his forehead.

“No, not that. A spell.”

“Maybe?” Penny said, trying to remember what magic she could about genders. “That magic is so finicky, and the chances of blowback are so high, that I don’t think anyone’s tried it.”

Penny took a good look at Simon. It was more than the exhaustion; Simon was right on the edge. He hadn’t changed clothes since she’d seen him the night before, and even her Beta sense of smell could detect the warning scent of alpha pheromones. Her mother’s words came back to her. Simon’s power was unpredictable under the best of circumstances—what if he was going into a rut?

Guilt tore through Penny at the direction of her thoughts.

“Did something happen?” she asked slowly.

Again Simon shook his head, though this time the gesture was a lot less emphatic.

“No. Just more of the same. He showed up, we argued, he buggered off. And this time the aunt threatened me.”

Not ideal, but Penny could think of at least five separate occasions where Simon had been in worse positions.

“But the Watch didn’t get involved?” she asked hesitantly.

“No, but…well, it’s…” he grimaced as his words trailed off into silence.

Penny walked over to him and lifted a hand to his shoulder. Almost immediately, she snatched her hand back. A charge had passed from where she’d touched Simon all the way up her arm; the arm ached, and Penny could feel the vibrations of the charge ringing in her ears. It was like Simon had tapped into a magical line, like he’d opened himself up as a conduit and forgot to turn off the connection. The amping power was strong enough that it would not only affect Simon’s ability to cast spells, but also that of anyone around him.

Simon had also been hot to the touch. Even that brief contact had been enough for Penny to feel that he was running some kind of fever.

“Simon,” Penny said slowly, trying to watch his reaction, “are you…how close are you to your rut?”

He flinched at her words and looked away. Penny wanted to give him some space, but she wasn’t sure she could let this rest. In the years she had known Simon, she hadn’t once been aware of him going into rut. His ability to channel power was strong enough without the extra boost that came with the flood of hormones from a rut, she could only imagine what would happen if one was starting.

“I’m on one of Ebb’s suppressors,” Simon whispered.

“But suppressors don’t completely prevent ruts. Yes, they’ll make them more manageable and farther apart, but it’s got to happen at some point.”

Simon’s gaze was focussed on the table before him, and he reached out to lift a cover of one of the books there. He’d no sooner touched the leather than Penny heard a popping noise. Yanking his hand back like he’d been burned, Simon gave Penny a desperate look.

“What’s wrong with me?”

Penny took a quick breath, noting the smell of ozone and smoke that was filling the room and Simon’s panicked expression.

“It’s fine,” she said, trying to channel the calm certainty she always heard in her mother’s voice.

“Clearly it’s not.”

“No, some of those older books just react badly when they’re exposed to certain spells or too much power.”

Images of her parents working in the other rooms came to mind, and Penny’s jaw began to ache. Normally Simon’s effect on atmospheric conditions didn’t extend beyond a room, but she’d also never seen him like this. None of the research her parents did was particularly dangerous, but it was often sensitive and required precision. 

“We should go out,” Penny said quickly. She gathered up her notebook and a couple of books from the table, then started to shoo Simon towards the door. “We can go somewhere a little more stable and figure this out.”

“Yeah, alright.”

“It will be fine,” Penny whispered as they passed through the hallway. She cast a look towards the closed door that led into the main lab, just hoping that neither of her parents would come out. Even her father, perpetually caught up in his latest area of research, couldn’t ignore the chaos that surrounded Simon.

Out on the street, Penny had to stop herself from drifting away from Simon’s side. With the energy that he was giving off and the sharp, smoky smell of alpha pheromones overwhelming the apple scent of his blockers, it was like he was blasting one giant warning that he was about to go off. Instead Penny stepped closer, ignoring the prickling of her skin.

“I was able to get a bit of information,” Penny said, looking up at Simon’s profile.

Simon glanced down, his eyes hopeful.

“Yeah?”

Penny nodded.

“My mum actually accidentally put me onto the right track. Turns out Natasha Pitch had been doing research on power limitations.”

Eyes suddenly wary, Simon said, “What’s that?”

“At its most basic, it’s how much power a single mage can hold.”

“Why would they want to?” Simon waved a hand towards himself.

“Probably a hundred different reasons. For most of the Old Families, inherent power is status. Like having a family of alphas. For others, it’s never having to worry in a fight about how much power you can draw from your surroundings. And for some it’s equality.”

Simon didn’t look convinced, but he still nodded.

“I guess,” he said. “Which reason is it for the Mage?”

Penny bit back her response. The street might’ve been quiet, but that didn’t mean much. And until she’d helped Simon clear his debt to the man, she didn’t want to run the risk of getting Simon into further trouble.

“Who knows? But I was able to find a bit more while I was waiting for you to show up,” she said quickly.

They’d reached the end of the merchant district where the workshop was located, and the buildings began to take on a worn character; paint was let to silver and chip, and roofs sagged.

_ But at least it’s safe _ , she tried to remind herself. The power through this district was almost as sparse as at the docks, and while it had its share of shady characters, it wasn’t so dangerous that Penny had to constantly worry about Simon.

Up ahead, Penny could see the swinging sign of the boarding house Simon was staying in. She pushed him along, her arm going numb up past her elbow at the contact.

“Come on, we’ll talk inside.”

Simon went in first, holding the door for Penny and then leading her up to his room. Inside, it was exactly as grim as she remembered, but with the lingering smell of pheromones and suppressors. At least his bed was made.

She sat down, pulling her legs up under her and tugging her skirt out around her.

“Comfortable?” Simon asked with a raised eyebrow.

Penny made a show of shuffling back until she was close to the headboard, grabbing his pillow and propping herself up.

“Quite.”

She was gratified to see his smile. The first genuine one of the day.

He sat down at the foot of the bed, his legs sprawled out in front of him. Flopping backwards, he shut his eyes, and again Penny realized just how drawn he looked.

“Here,” she said, tossing one of the books into his lap.

Simon raised his head to glance at the book and then looked quizzically at Penny.

“One of the books from my father’s collection,” she said. “Apparently he used to be into this stuff. There’s mostly just a lot of theoretical nonsense about the capacity for different beings—humans, dwarves, trolls—to hold and maintain magic within themselves, and there’s some alarming passages on eugenics, but check out page fifty-three.”

Pushing himself up onto his elbows, the book balanced on his chest, Simon flipped through with one hand until he’d reached the right page. Immediately Penny heard his breath catch, and he turned back to her.

“The symbol!”

Penny nodded and leaned forward to point out a couple of the paragraphs.

“It was the only reference I could find to it, and it’s maddeningly vague, but sounds like it was the marking for a group that used to be quite active in this field.”

Simon sat up, clutching the book carefully as he read.

“After the order had been disbanded, the workshop was taken over by one of the ranking members, and the journals of all members destroyed,” Simon read out. He looked up at Penny. “But those journals the Mage wanted were supposed to have this symbol. Does that mean that Natasha Pitch was a member? And why weren’t hers destroyed?”

“I don’t know, but…” It was unlike Penny to find it this difficult to put words together. “This isn’t good. Whatever was in those journals, whatever the order found…they wouldn’t disband and destroy everything without a good reason.”

Simon nodded.

“Yeah. And now that smug bastard has them.”

“I think you’re missing the forest for the trees,” Penny said, unable to hide her exasperation. “ _ The Mage _ wants whatever is in those journals. Do you really think  _ he _ has a good use planned?”

With a snap Simon closed the book and gave Penny a weary look.

“I have to hope so.”

The defeat that echoed through his words made Penny’s heart ache. She smiled weakly.

“It’ll be okay,” she said, trying to will some assurance into the words. She held up the other book she’d brought, flipping through until she found the page she wanted. “They’re pretty cagey about where the workshop was located in that book, but there were enough markers that I was able to find this.”

She held the open book up, showing Simon a map that sprawled across two pages. With one finger, she pointed to a small marking just outside of Watford.

“Is that it?” Simon said.

“It should be. It would be no more than an hour’s ride outside of town. I’m sure that if we went, there’d have to be something more we could find. Something that you could give the Mage and clear your deal.” 

Penny sounded much more confident than she felt, but Simon still nodded. As they started to plan for the journey, she had to hope that this wouldn’t make things worse.

  
  



	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Simon goes exploring! (with a little thirst)

Even with the few hours of sleep that Penny had insisted he take, Simon still felt sluggish, pressure driving through his temples and sinking down into his jaw. 

Sunlight burned through the square as Simon slunk across it, pulling his cloak tighter around him. Just past noon, and it was far too warm for that many layers—particularly with the heat Simon’s body was generating—but the idea of being so exposed made him jittery. The well-used wool probably didn’t do much to contain his scent, but at least he could pretend it was helping.

And soon, Simon would leave Watford behind him. The only thing that had him able to crawl out of his bed and meet back up with Penny had been the promise of the countryside. It would be a reprieve from the constant barrage of human scents, and he wouldn’t have to worry about seeing a certain omega.

Baz’s appearance the night before—that morning, really—had nearly been Simon’s breaking point. Hearing his voice…Simon hadn’t known what to expect, but certainly not that. Baz had a voice that could have passed for that of an alpha, low and strong. And posh. With the sort of control ringing through it that seemed to mock Simon’s fragile state. When the omega had swept his gaze over Simon, lingering on his crotch, fire had blown through him. Thoughts of Baz taking his cock—taking  _ his knot _ —nearly made him dizzy.

He could still feel where his hand had gripped Baz’s wrist. The skin had been so warm, and when Baz’s pulse had raced beneath his thumb, Simon had felt a pull from his groin up through his chest.

At that moment, it had been hard for Simon to remember the mess that his life had become or the favours that he still owed the Mage; the need to pull the omega closer, to take possession, had been as desperate as the need to breathe.

_ It has to be a spell. _

Simon couldn’t afford to doubt that. It had to be the case. All Simon needed to do was find out what the spell was so that he could stop it. A nice, neat fix, and he could stop worrying about his body feeling out of control.

Raising one hand to his eyes, trying to block out the glare of the sun, Simon scanned the busy square. When Penny had left his room that morning, she’d said she would be at the fountain, but there was no sign of her.

Cold seeped through Simon’s clothes as he sat down on the smooth granite of the fountain edge. Behind him, he could hear the splashing of the water, wind pushing the spray against the back of his neck. He shut his eyes and tried to calm himself, letting his breath out in a ragged burst.

It would do no good to ride off with Penny if he continued to be this churned up. Simon was supposed to be better than this. Every moment since he’d arrived in Watford had been about making himself better—becoming someone who  _ did _ things.

Still, he couldn’t help but wonder what Baz was doing now. It had been a small satisfaction that the omega had looked as weary as Simon, his skin pale and eyes bloodshot. If he had any sense, he’d have gone to bed.

Simon had to forcefully pull his thoughts away from the image of Baz spread out on a bed, his dark hair against white sheets, those slender hands reaching up…

“Simon!”

He snapped upright, gaze zeroing in on where Penny was standing in front of him, hands on her hips. She squinted at him.

“Are you really going to be okay?” she said, her tone dubious.

Pressing his palms against his thighs, Simon pushed himself up and stretched out his shoulders.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Just a little tired.”

“Did you get any rest at all?”

Simon did his best to smile, but from the furrowing of Penny’s brow it was clearly not convincing.

“I’m fine. I slept,” he said before she could start protesting some more. “Come on, if we’re going to have you back home by dusk we have to leave now.”

Penny nodded slowly. A series of rapid-fire thoughts seemed to flash across her face as she twisted the purple ring round on her finger before she nodded again sharply.

“Okay. I was able to find a wagon that’s headed East out of Watford and will be passing within a half mile of where the workshop should be. They’ve said that we can get a ride with them that far.”

“Any idea how we’ll get back?”

“Really? You think I wouldn’t consider that?” Penny said, paired with an expression of bemusement and mock outrage.

“Sorry! I should know.”

“Damn right you should. I asked around, and the road we’ll be dropped off along is used pretty regularly. So long as we make it back there before the town gates are shut for the night, a wagon coming into Watford should pass by us.”

Simon stared down at his boots and tried to gather his thoughts.

“That won’t give us a lot of time,” he said slowly. He needed to handle this carefully.

Penny pushed her hair off her shoulder and peered at him over the top of her glasses.

“It’ll be tight, but at least we can get a feeling of whether there’s anything there. For all we know, the magic might have dried up, all of the books and belongings for the order could have been moved…it might not even be there anymore.”

“But there might be something—I  _ need _ to find something. And who’s to say how long it will take to find the workshop?”

Pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose, Penny gave Simon a considering look.

“Simon, what are you trying to say?”

“I think…I should probably go on my own.”

Penny’s eyes widened, her mouth opening, and then she glared at him, reaching forward to poke him in the chest.

“Don’t be daft. Absolutely not.”

“There’s no way we can go there and come back before you need to be home,” Simon said.

“It’s fine. I’ve been the perfect picture of filial obedience since they caught me the last time. Worst that’ll happen is my mum will tell me off and I’ll have to deep clean all of the equipment at the workshop. Maybe a day or two of house arrest before both mum and dad completely forget about it all,” she said with a wave of her hand.

“Penny, they told you that I wouldn’t be able to come round anymore—that you’d have to stop having any contact with me—if you stayed out all night again. I can’t risk that,” Simon said, feeling as though his words were inadequate.

“I doubt they even remember that. Dad certainly doesn’t, and Mum…there’s been some progress with her research lately so I think I’m still safe there.”

“But Prem was there, wasn’t he? And there’s no way he’d forget. Or one of your other siblings.”

Penny’s expression darkened at the thought of her brother and again she started to twist and pull at her ring.

“Still should be fine. Plus, this whole mess is because I let you go do a job on your own. If I’d gone with you…”

“Penny,” Simon said, before realizing he didn’t know what to say.

How did he put that first night into words? How did he explain the inevitability that had rung through every step since their meeting with the Mage?

He gave her a weak smile and wrapped one arm around her shoulders in a quick hug. The gentle smell of beta surrounded him and it was like sinking into cool water, a brief respite from the fog that had been encompassing him.

“Really, I’ll be fine. I’ll make some notes, gather what I can, and bring it all back to you tomorrow morning to make sense of it. And this time I won’t have to worry about that—about Baz being there.”

Penny’s arm snaked around Simon’s waist and she gave him a quick hug.

“I’m not sure I like  _ you _ as the one to be rational. If you keep this up, you’ll put me out of a job,” she said turning her face up to his. She searched his expression before she added, “Are you really going to be okay?”

It was moments like this where Simon wondered what would have become of him if he hadn’t met Penny.

_ Probably died consumed by my own magic _ , he thought.  _ Or stabbed down by the docks. _

But for some reason, Simon just knew that he had to make this trip alone. It wasn’t worth the risk it would require of Penny.  _ He _ couldn’t manage the risk. The last time she’d been caught, it had been after one of their two day jobs—her parents hadn’t noticed her absence until the second day, otherwise Simon suspected it would’ve been much worse. They’d returned from a retrieval run bedraggled and exhausted, but otherwise fine, only to discover her parents in a right state.

For a week, Penny had been confined to her home, and then for another several weeks they’d relaxed just enough to allow her to go to the workshop. The only times he’d been able to see Penny had been a few late night meetings at the back door. Simon had never felt so alone. Even before he’d met Penny, it hadn’t been so bad; he hadn’t known what he was missing.

He’d tried to keep busy and take what jobs he could, but without Penny, it hadn’t been the same. Simon had only just managed to struggle through. He didn’t want to go through that again.

“Sure. Now, where’s the wagon?”

***

The journey out of town was pleasantly quiet. After Penny had walked Simon to the wagon and made the introductions, he only had a couple of minutes to make sure he had everything he needed before they were off.

Penny had left him with a final squeeze of his hand and a warning not to touch anything that looked magical, and then Simon was bumping along in the back of the wagon between bolts of cloth as they rolled out.

The merchant hadn’t been inclined to talk, and that suited Simon just fine. His head had begun to ache and all of the exhaustion of the last few days tugged at his eyelids. Between the comforting vibrations of the wagon, the warm sunlight streaming down on him, and the steady sounds of the horse’s hooves and the wheels, Simon was pulled off into a light doze.

It wasn’t until the wagon rolled to a stop and the merchant called back in his gruff, low-country voice that Simon woke up.

“This where you wanted off.” It was said as a statement rather than a question.

Simon blinked his eyes open, looking around at the span of trees and brush. One stretch of woods looked much the same to him, so he would have to take the man’s word for it.

_ Idiot,  _ he scolded himself. If Penny had been here, she would’ve been paying attention during the drive. Maybe tracking the time. And she’d probably have researched landmarks.

But there was nothing Simon could do about it now except trust that he was where he needed to be.

Grabbing hold of the side of the wagon, Simon hopped over and landed on the road with a dull thud. He quickly reached back and grabbed the rucksack that contained his supplies.

“What do I owe you?” he said, walking up towards the bench seat where the merchant sat.

The man shook his head.

“The wee girl already settled it,” the man said before he clicked his tongue and twitched the reins, setting the horse back into motion.

Simon stared after the wagon, watching it gradually get smaller until finally it rounded the bend and vanished. Even with Penny back in Watford, she still found a way to look after him. He was again aware just how bad an idea it was to leave her behind, but he had to push that thought away. It would be what it would be, and he’d rather know that she was safe.

Shaking out his shoulders, Simon turned towards the woods. He scanned the line of trees looking for any sign of a path, but apart from the road, there was no indication that anyone had ever so much as set foot in the woods. Simon took the map Penny had drawn based on her research out of his pocket and unfolded the small square of paper.

There wasn’t much to it. Penny had done her best to keep some sense of the scale from the original maps, but they weren’t even sure if those had been correct. Rising up through the middle of the page was the solid line of the road; there was an X labelled  _ Watford _ down at the bottom and another marking a spot a little further up, to the right of the road.

Simon was  _ supposed _ to have been dropped off as close to that second X as could be managed, but looking around at the dirt and trees and sky, there was nothing to show whether he was in the right spot.

He tucked the map back into pocket and stepped off the road. The grass that led up to the start of the woods brushed unpleasantly about his knees, and Simon missed the town—even the grimy parts that his jobs often took him to. At least he knew where he was in Watford.

Walking through the woods was a peculiar kind of balance. The trees were mostly a mix of beeches and aspens, their branches rustling and whispering with the faintest breath of wind. There was enough space between the slender trunks that he could pick his way forward, but the brambles that crawled across the forest floor were a challenge. Some of the areas were so choked with the bushes that Simon would have to veer off to find a clear route, trying to make sure he kept his bearings right.

Penny had thought the workshop was a half mile from the road, which should have taken about fifteen minutes to walk, but with the pace Simon was managing he suspected it was going to take a lot longer.

At least the weather had held. Even with the leaves blocking out most of the sunlight, the day was still warm, and Simon could smell the damp green of the woods mixed with a not-unpleasant smell of decay. He would’ve given almost anything to have street signs and a clear road, but the absence of other people’s pheromones was a relief he hadn’t realized he needed.

After a couple of minutes, Simon paused and tugged off his cloak. He screwed it up into a ball and shoved it into his rucksack.

_ Might as well take advantage of being out here on my own _ , he decided. With no one around, he didn’t have to worry about the smell of his own pheromones. There were no other alphas to be triggered into a fight, no omegas to be terrified, no betas to look down on him.

Some of the tightness that had been suffocating Simon for weeks eased from his chest. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.  _ Maybe… _ but Simon suspected that his luck wasn’t that good.

Simon walked for what felt like it had to have been a half-mile, then stopped. He looked for any sign that he was going the right way, but all he could see were still only the trees.

Slowly, he started walking again, scouring the woods around him for any sign of a building and trying to remind himself that his ability to gauge distance and time would be off outside of town—there were no blocks or bells tolling to let him know how far he’d gone. But as he walked, branches crunching under his boots and brambles snagging his clothes, uncertainty settled like lead in his stomach.

_ What if I’m in the wrong spot? What if Penny’s maps are wrong? _

He pushed aside the doubt; he didn’t have room for that. His life was enough of a mess that he didn’t need to invite any more uncertainty; it would be far better for him to stay focussed. Better to think of the omega that kept appearing in front of him, probably as a way to trigger Simon’s rut and…that was about as far as Simon had been able to unravel it. He couldn’t actually figure out  _ why _ they might want to trigger his rut, but that was the only reason he could think of for what had been happening to him.

For the briefest of moments, Simon wondered what it would be like to just let go and give in to it. Would it be so bad if he had Baz with him? Instead of just endlessly jerking off until his cock was raw, what if he had the omega’s slick heat surrounding him?

A shudder ran through Simon, his cock starting to harden at just the thought.

He slammed his eyes shut.

What the fuck was he thinking? He knew almost nothing about Baz, and what he did know wasn’t good. The omega was the  _ enemy _ , and Simon had to remember that, no matter how much he wanted to see if Baz’s skin tasted as sweet as it smelled. After his last rut, there was no way Simon could consider letting himself have another anyway—never mind how absurd it was to think of Baz wanting to join him for it. More than the toll on Simon’s body, his power had become too unpredictable. Even with an omega he liked— _ especially _ if he liked them—he couldn’t ask anyone to take that sort of risk.

Frustration coursed through all of Simon’s muscles; he wanted to hit something. He was horny and he was starting to suspect that he was lost.

Simon spun around, still hoping for some sign. 

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. The woods were silent apart from the rustle of leaves and a bird call or two, and while Simon could feel wild magic twisting and looping all around him, he couldn’t feel anything like the organized pooling of magic he’d expect from a workshop for a whole order of mages.

_ Maybe I should just use a pathfinding spell.  _

Immediately, Simon discarded the idea. His feet were tingling in his boots from the wild magic, and it wouldn’t take much for it to latch onto him.  _ This _ wild magic wanted to be used—it wanted to do something. It would take only the barest of intentions to get a spell to spring to life, and Simon didn’t have the ability to hold back. Between his own power and the chaotic wild magic Simon was more likely to set the woods on fire than manage the spell.

But did he have another option?

It was the story of his entire bloody life. For a second Simon would think that he could actually manage something, and then the world would find a way to remind him that he was only ever three steps from being boxed in.

Grinding his teeth and trying to do the counting that Penny had taught him, Simon started to picture the map in his head. He thought of that X marking where the workshop was supposed to be, of the mysterious Order and where he wanted to go…he thought of Baz.

Magic pulsed through him. Simon had yet to figure out if it was pleasant or painful. It skittered across his skin, just light enough to give the sensation of something crawling—Simon had learned the hard way not to brush at his skin when he was casting—and for his hair to rise up, arms breaking out into goosebumps.

He wanted to let go. More power and it would feel closer to a caress; then there would be the relief, Simon’s whole body relaxing like stepping into a hot bath. But instead, he clenched his jaw and tried to push it back.

Quickly, the magic faded. Simon tentatively sniffed the air, expecting the smell of burning wood, but the woods seemed remarkably intact.

He tried desperately to remember how the spell was supposed to work. Was he supposed to feel something? Was this the one that just made a person turn towards the North, or was it the one that pulled them towards a destination?

Looking around, the woods hadn’t changed, but as Simon turned a half step to the right he got the oddest feeling of… _ rightness _ . He pushed aside a bush between two of the trunks and took a step forward. The feeling continued. Another step, and the same feeling—if anything it intensified. Veering off, and suddenly Simon felt cold sink straight through him; back on the path and he was fine.

“This’ll work,” he said, his voice loud in the stillness.

Following that feeling, he worked his way forward through the woods, over a dry stream bed, and up a hill until he’d reached a broad field. In the distance, he could see the stretch of more trees lining the sides of the field like a fence, and in the middle of the waist-high grass he saw the remains of a building.

The building was more of a farmhouse, clearly abandoned and reclaimed by the elements. Whatever paint had been on the silvered boards had long since faded and chipped away, and the walls had collapsed in on themselves. There were occasional details that suggested the field might once have been a great deal more tame; Simon almost walked into the stonework for a well, and there were boards that gave the impression of having once been the border for a flower bed. Mostly, the edges of the field just looked too straight—this field had been  _ cleared. _

It would actually make a pretty good spot for mages to practice. There was enough space that people could cast together without worrying about spell interference, and with all the wild magic around there was certainly a lot of power to draw from. Maybe that was why the magic had been so eager for him to use it—like a wild animal that had grown used to being fed by humans.

But all of that told him nothing. Nothing that could be of any use. Nothing that would get him out of his debt to the Mage. Nothing that would show him how to handle the grey-eyed omega.

Disappointment rose up hot and thick, and Simon had to swallow a couple of times to push it back.

_ What would Penny do? _

He’d come all this way—she’d call him a numpty if he returned without having done any exploring.

Holding his breath, he leaned in close to what once would have been the front of the workshop, letting only the tips of his fingers graze against the wood. There was a residual flare of magic, like the discharge of static, and then nothing.

That should have been concerning; Simon  _ knew _ that. Even if this was only where they’d kept books, there should have been more residue. But not even the wild magic had bothered with the small structure. Penny would’ve had a theory; she would be rattling off something she’d read or some fact that she’d been discussing with her father over breakfast, and she would know what to do.

All Simon did was stare into the dark until his eyes had adjusted enough to see the remains of an old floor, jagged breaks in the boards showing yawning holes. The only objects were shards of crockery and the broken frame of a cane back chair.

Standing up, Simon took one last look around the field hoping that divine inspiration would hit, but he was on his own. He clutched the straps of his rucksack and turned to head back.

He’d barely taken a step when the chill sank through him. If the way towards the workshop had felt right, this just felt like panic and dread smashed together—it was the sensation of being halfway down the street and suddenly realizing that he’d forgotten to put on his blocking lotion; of being in a blind alley and becoming aware of someone following him. 

He took another step, but the cold grew. His breath came out in a gasp. A third step, and the cold had spread far enough that his fingers began to feel numb.

Simon had to turn around. The moment he stepped back towards the house, the cold began to dissipate.

_ Maybe there’s something more? Or is it just because I cast it wrong? _

Either way, he was stuck here until the spell wore off, which could very well be a good few hours. Simon might have loved magic, but he got the feeling that it didn’t love him back.

Back in front of the building, he crouched down and tried to see if there was something he’d missed. He could only hope that the spell had locked itself onto some specific item, and that as soon as he’d found it, he’d be released. Not likely, but hope was one of the few things Simon had left to his name.

He clenched his jaw, ducked under the collapsed roof, and started to crawl forward. Grit ground into his palms, and each inhale was dry—probably more dust than air—but he still continued forward.

It was slow going to get across the floor,, but finally Simon made it to what felt like the middle of the room. With each shuffle, he’d felt that rightness again. The spell wanted  _ this. _ It wanted him  _ here. _

A small thrill coursed through Simon’s chest, and he smiled to himself as he took a quick break. The roof was high enough that he could sit back on his heels and wipe off the dirt and pebbles on his hands. He swiped his fingers through his hair, trying to push it back, but suspected that all he was doing was getting dirt in it.

_ Afterwards _ , he promised himself, _ I’ll see if the well is still working and have a quick wash. _

If the well hadn’t gone dry, he might even stay the night. Of the few supplies he’d packed, some strips of jerky and trail apples were included.

He was already dreaming of sleeping out under the stars when the light shifted, clouds drifting across the sky and a beam of light spearing through. It caught a dull glint a few feet in front of him.

The collapsed roof drooped lower there, but as soon as he’d shucked his rucksack it wasn’t too bad, and it was worth the struggle. The glint had been from a large metal pull. A pull attached to a trapdoor.

Simon had no sooner touched the pull than he felt magic twining up his arm like a greeting. His blood fizzed with the power lingering in the metal, his breath stalling. Before he could think it through, he yanked on the pull, heaving the heavy door up and open.

Air smelling of damp and stone rose up towards him. Simon stared down into the blackness.

If he was smart, he would wait. He would crawl out, maybe have some of his jerky, and then he would go back to Penny. The sensible choice was to do more research and then come back with supplies for an underground journey. But Simon couldn’t wait.

So instead, he reached back to grab his rucksack and then chucked it into the dark. The sound of the thump came quick enough; the drop should be safe enough. Probably. 

On his belly he edged himself backwards, lowering his legs down into the hole. He moved slowly and carefully to lower himself down until just his arms and shoulders were over the lip of the pit. 

With a plea to whatever gods had been ignoring him up to now, Simon let go of the edge and dropped into the dark. 

  
  
  



	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is why you should always have Light as one of your cantrips if you're a magic user with no Dark Vision...
> 
> Also, I'm sorry about the cliff hanger *evil laugh* but will be trying to get the next chapter edited soon!

Landing with a thud, Simon tried to shake off the dull ache. The drop hadn’t been much, but it was enough to feel in his knees and ankles. Belatedly, he thought of the coil of rope in his rucksack. After enough situations where Simon and Penny had needed to scrounge around for rope to tie up goblin thugs or clamber down from third story windows, Penny had decided that they wouldn’t go anywhere without it. She’d be rolling her eyes and asking him why he couldn’t have taken a half second more to think his actions through;  _ she _ would’ve remembered the rope.

But he’d made it down unharmed, and he was going to take that as a sign. He had no idea how he was going to get back out, but he’d worry about that later.

He swept his arm around through the velvety black until his fingers brushed against the canvas of his rucksack. He picked it up, thinking through his inventory for something that would be useful to explore down here. His eyes still weren’t adjusting to the dark, and the farther he went the worse it would be.

Last year, Simon and Penny had done a retrieval job for the Mage. It was supposed to be simple, but they’d had to go down into the catacombs and tunnels that ran under Watford, and they’d quickly learned that  _ nothing _ was simple underground. Outside of the few main catacombs that got regular use from the priests of the Temple of the Dark and visiting mourners, strange creatures crept around. And the underground had its own flavour of magic. It was similar to wild magic, but different. More strong-willed. 

Penny had been absolutely miserable surrounded by the underground magic. She’d complained of it being like tar, clinging to her. Simon hadn’t thought it was that bad—it had resonated with his own magic in a way that felt right—but he’d been too afraid to say so.

That particular job had led to Penny adding a box of matches to their list of necessary supplies for Simon. They could’ve used magic, but they hadn’t wanted to risk the spell going wrong in a tight space.

_ Enough. _ Simon had to stop thinking about how different this would be without Penny.  _ He _ had told her to stay; it was his decision. It was for the best—for both of them—and needed to just get over it and figure out how he was going to explore. Simon decided that all thoughts of Penny would be off limits until he was back within sight of Watford. The decision didn’t make him feel better, but it did galvanize him.

Working by touch, Simon shoved one hand into the bag and rummaged around until he could feel the smooth sides of the matchbox. He pulled it out and fumbled to light one of the matches.

It flared yellow in the dark, the light not stretching much beyond his hand but still better than nothing. Carefully, he moved his hand through the dark, trying to get his bearings. He was able to see a stretch of curved wall, just dark stone and dirt, before the flame reached the bottom of the match and Simon had to drop it. The light went out.

He struck another match and was able to see some more wall, enough to guess that the space was shaped like a large well. And then that match also went out.

Simon tugged at his hair in frustration. At this rate, the matches would be gone by the time he’d seen all that he could in this one spot. He needed to make some sort of torch, but what was he going to use?

His bag contained only the rope, his cloak, a few sheets of paper and a pencil, jerky and apples, a water skin, a basic apothecary kit for treating simple wounds, and his suppressing potion. He could probably spare the paper, but it would burn far too fast to be of any use.

_ Think, Simon. _ There had to be an answer. This wasn’t just some random hole in the ground. An order of mages had used this place enough that it still smelled of magic. What would _ they _ have done?

He slung his bag loosely over one shoulder, tucking the matches into a side pocket, and then he stretched out his palms. He took one slow step forward, and then another, until he could feel the rough, cool stone beneath his palms. Working at around shoulder height, he started to walk sideways, his hands moving up and down the wall.

Each minute—or maybe second, it was hard for him to gauge time in the dark—that Simon didn’t find anything, he could feel his frustration mounting. Maybe he’d been wrong, another failure he could add to a long list. But he’d been so certain. It made sense that the Order would’ve had torches down here. 

Even if they’d been powerful enough to think nothing of constantly casting dark vision spells or tying a glow spell to an object, the magic could have tampered with any delicate work they might’ve been doing. In spending time at the Bunces’—and being asked to leave when he was wicking too much magic—Simon had learned how delicate some research could be.

Finally, Simon found what he’d been hoping for. His fingers brushed against rough metal that arched out away from the wall and circled back around. He followed the cold iron, reaching into the circle it made to grab hold of the wooden torch at the centre. 

It took some managing, but finally Simon was able to pull it free. He retrieved his matches, striking one and holding it to the end of the torch. There was a brief flare, and Simon worried that the torch may’ve grown too damp, but then the fire caught.

The torch lit up the space, allowing Simon to see that he was in a small circular room—it really was like a well—with two small doorways leading out.

Before he decided which way to go, Simon tucked the matches back into his rucksack, then grabbed the other two torches still in the wrought iron holder and added them to his bag. The supply wouldn’t last long, maybe an hour if he was lucky, but it was better than nothing.

He faced the doorways and tried to choose a direction. When he stuck the torch through the first, he could see that the floor stayed relatively straight and level. The corridor was broad enough that two people could walk abreast; it must have been a main passage. The other corridor was narrower and looked rougher, like it hadn’t been made by the same people. Sloping downwards, it had an odd pull.

_ Just the magic _ . 

Both corridors crackled with underground magic, but the second had enough that Simon felt dizzy with it. His own magic pressed up against his skin, warming him. 

He wanted to start with the second. The lure was hard to ignore. It was like a magnet with iron filings; he half expected to be dragged down by some force. But then, he caught the smell of omega.

Not just any omega— _ Baz. _

Simon barely had the chance to wonder what Baz’s scent was doing there before he’d turned away from the second door and rushed through the first. The warmth of his magic was quickly replaced by a searing heat as his body recognized the sweet smell.

The hallway was a blur as Simon raced forward. All he could see were shadows from the torchlight flickering along the walls and gaps of darkness that must’ve been doors.

If he’d been in any reasonable state of mind, he would have taken his time to methodically search those rooms, but he didn’t give any of them a second thought. Baz wasn’t in any of them, and that was all that mattered at that moment. 

With each step, he could feel warmth building in his chest. Simon didn’t know if it was from the spell or the presence of an omega. 

An omega who smelled as though he was on the verge of a heat.

Just the thought had Simon’s cock hardening, a shudder racing through him. Around him he could smell his own pheromones, the smoky mixing with the sweet.

_ It’s never been like this before.  _

Even with Agatha, when she’d been within a day or two of her heat, the interest Simon felt had been a mere shadow of what he was currently experiencing. Maybe it was the darker note to Baz’s sugary scent, like caramelized sugar. Simon wanted to be surrounded by it.

Finally, he reached the room that was the source of the scent and stopped. The door was closed, but there was a faint light coming through the gaps around the frame. Simon gripped the torch tighter, and stared hard at the rough planks.

What did he think he was about to do? Simon wasn’t some stereotypical alpha; he wasn’t the type who just followed his hormones, and he didn’t want to be. And as much as Simon didn’t like Baz, he couldn’t just burst into a room with a vulnerable omega.

Simon felt a pull from his groin all the way up his chest at the thought of what might be waiting inside the room. His cock ached at the thought of those grey eyes darkened, a hungry expression replacing the disdain he’d seen before as that posh voice called his name, begging for his knot.

Backing up until he could feel the cold stone pressing against his shirt, Simon took a deep breath.  _ What the fuck am I doing? _

Simon barely knew the omega, and what he did know was enough to convince anyone it was a bad idea to be anywhere near him. There was a very real chance that this was some plot. He’d be lured into the room and then Baz would feed him to a giant spider, or just trap him down here until he died of hunger. Maybe Baz wasn’t even in the room. It was ridiculous for Simon to be so certain that he could recognize the scent of someone he’d only met a couple of days ago.

Breathing through his mouth, Simon crossed back towards the door and then paused. What should he do? The idea of bursting in left a bitter taste in his mouth, but all of his instincts were demanding that he get to the omega  _ now. _ His hand hovered over the iron catch for a moment before he lifted it and rapped his knuckles against the door.

“Baz? Are you in there?” Simon didn’t know why he sounded so bloody polite. He was clearly an idiot. 

The only response he heard was a groan.

Simon had probably used up all of his luck with the drop down and finding the torches, but he sent up another plea that this wasn’t a trap before opening the door.

Inside, there was a small lantern set on a table, empty bookshelves lining one wall, and a chair sitting in the middle of the room. On the floor beside the chair, his pale face gold in the lantern light, was Baz.

“What did you do to me?” Baz hissed.

  
  



	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some clarification for the next few chapters. I just want to make it clear that Baz is able to make decisions and that what happens is because he wants it. I (and my beta reader who helps with editing) tried to strike a balance between making it clear that Baz is consenting while not going OOC (or too far away from their established dynamic), but we thought some people might want a warning for stuff that can be viewed as dubcon. 
> 
> Also, I'm sorry that this is another chapter with a kind of cliffhanger ending! But I can promise you that the next chapter will see some certain things resolved hehehe Should be posting it soon.

Baz was apparently full of bad decisions. After he’d drifted off to sleep, he’d only been able to manage a couple of fitful hours before giving up on it entirely. His whole body felt uncomfortable, like his skin was too tight—too sensitive—and all he could think of was the smell of the alpha. He’d jerked himself off a couple of times already to that scent, though that hadn’t been nearly enough, and the moment the relief of the orgasm had fled he’d been left feeling vaguely dirty.

Something had to be wrong with him. He wasn’t like this. 

Except clearly he was.

So instead of wallowing, Baz got up. As long as he was really busy, he might be able to ignore the need that was tearing through him. It had always worked before. Though, this time the feeling was closer to his hunger for blood—it was inescapable and only built the more he ignored it.

He grabbed one of his mother’s journals and padded out to the sitting room. Fiona was still asleep, and he knew he’d have a good few hours to read without having to worry about another lecture.

First, he closed the blinds and lit one of the small lamps. As a Living Vampire, Baz the sun wasn’t something he had to worry about--one of the small mercies of his condition--, but it didn’t mean he had to like it. Then he sprawled out on one of the chairs, flinging a leg over one of the broad arms. He felt a small victory at his slovenly pose—if he’d been at home, his father would’ve certainly had something to say. For all her faults, he loved that Fiona didn’t care about Baz keeping up the illusion of the well-behaved heir.

Opening the book, he was caught unaware by his mother’s name, scrawled in her handwriting in the top corner; his chest ached at the sight of it, but he had to pull himself back to the task at hand. The Mage wanted something that his mother had learned, and he needed to find out what it was before Simon did.

Baz flipped the page, and instead of his mother’s precise notes, he found a map. He stared at the annotations that were crammed into the small legend in the corner.

There were markings indicating a forest, and another for a river, but down at the bottom there was one labelled “group workshop”. Up on the map, he found the corresponding symbol and realized that it wasn’t far from Watford.

Baz took five minutes to wonder if it was a bad idea to wander off into the forest by himself. Maybe it was the lack of sleep or the nearness of his heat making him reckless, but Baz didn’t care. The map was detailed enough that he would be able to get there without a problem. He also knew how to get around in the forests. In Watford, there were enough butchers that he could get a supply of animal blood with little effort, but at the monastery the only way for him to feed was to hunt in the surrounding woods.

The journey was exactly as easy as he’d anticipated. He’d been able to get one of Fiona’s friends to drive him out, keeping a watchful eye on how far they’d gone until he was in the closest spot. Then, with the help of his mother’s notes and a compass, he made good time through the woods.

It was reassuring, as he worked his way through the woods, to know that he wouldn’t have to worry about seeing Simon here. With the directions safely written in the journal, there was no way the alpha could even know about the workshop.

His only moment of doubt was when he saw the state of the building, but Baz still crouched down to peer into the darkness under the collapsed roof. It didn’t take much for his eyes to adjust to the dark, and even from the edge he could see the outline of a trapdoor. Apparently, being a vampire did have at least one good feature.

He grimaced a bit at the idea of having to crawl through the dust and dirt, but it had to be done,so Baz hurried forward until he was at the trap door and then let himself down.

The dark here felt even closer, with the sort of weight that was comforting to him despite being harder to see through. After his eyes finally adjusted, he chose the first of two passageways. He poked his head into the first doorway that opened off it and found an empty work space, but from the residual energy, he could tell it wasn’t right. Not his mother’s at all.

He worked his way forward, looking into empty office after empty office until finally he felt a magic that was almost identical to his own. Even just crossing the threshold, he could feel the lingering power rising up in welcome, and Baz was suddenly five, playing under a broad table while he watched his mother’s skirts and listened to the strange words tumbling from her lips as she did her work.

Ignoring the sting at his eyes, he stepped more fully into the room to take a look. With his enhanced vision, he was able to see a bit, but he was pleased to see a small lantern on the table. A proper search would be easier with some light.

No sooner had he lit the lamp than Baz felt a bolt of fire passing from his chest down to his core. His body clenched, and he gripped the table edge to keep himself upright as his legs started to turn to jelly. Already he could feel damp slick leaking from his body. His heat was starting.

Baz crouched down, and pressed his forehead to the cool stone floor hoping for some relief from the inferno starting to twist through him and rise up under his skin. What was he going to do? Baz wasn’t prepared for heats at the best of times, but he had nothing with him.

Because he couldn’t be trusted to make any good choices, he hadn’t even bothered to bring water, or food. If his heat started in earnest, he wouldn’t be able to move, never mind get back to the surface—or Watford—for days.

Desperately, Baz wondered how long he could go without water. But on a wave of need that sent his hand fumbling for the front of his trousers to squeeze his cock, that thought fluttered away. The only thing he could focus on was how much his body ached; how empty he felt.

Baz screwed his eyes shut, pulling his hand away. He had to fight this. If he could hold it back long enough to get out, he would be fine. It would be okay.

He didn’t know how long he spent crouched on the floor, trying to will himself back up to his feet. A hundred times he visualized himself standing, walking back down that hallway, and then getting out of here; he even knew exactly what spell would allow him to climb out easily. But somehow, Baz was still where he lay on the floor in the soft light of the lantern, limbs heavy and joints aching, his hips bucking softly in search of some relief from the need that was building.

Slowly, he rolled onto his side, curling in on himself. For a moment, the feel of the cool stone was nice against his overheated skin, and then he just became aware of how hard and empty it was. His gaze darted around the room, panic starting to fill him. The whole room was so empty. Baz might not have been one for much nesting, but even he liked to pad his bed with towels and blankets.

_ This is too fast _ , he realized. Yes, he’d been feeling his heat hovering like a threat for days, but it still should have taken longer. The pre-heat should’ve lasted at least a week as his body prepared itself. To go from a little horny but otherwise fine to splayed out, his ass leaking slick like he was a broken water pump, was wrong.

And then the scent of burning—of alpha pheromones and fire—reached his nostrils. Baz whimpered, unable to stop his hand from sliding into his trousers to grip his cock. Even that simple touch was enough to have his whole body tightening.

Clearly something was wrong with Baz. That was the only reason he was hallucinating that maddening alpha’s scent. Driven mad by a bad heat, he had conjured up the scent to make himself feel better.

Except it hadn’t. All it made him feel was emptier and more alone. He could feel the start of tears in his eyes, and he desperately reached down to rub at the soft skin of his entrance, trying to fight them. He could feel his hole twitching at the touch of his fingers, but Baz didn’t  _ want  _ his fingers.

The outline of Simon’s cock appeared in Baz’s mind, and he felt a responding pulse in his own cock, his ass clenching. He wanted  _ that. _ He wanted that stupid alpha to kiss his tears away as he pushed those thick fingers inside him, opening him up until he was ready for an alpha’s cock. He wanted to have Simon filling him until he didn’t know where he ended and Simon began. He wanted to feel the warmth of Simon cumming inside him as his wrecked voice called Baz’s name.

Frantically Baz yanked his hand out of his trousers, fighting to get his breathing even.

_ What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with me? _

That question circled through him on a loop. Why now? Why this alpha? 

A knock echoed through the room, and Baz heard that rough voice calling out.

“Baz, are you in there?”

All Baz could do was groan in response as his body reacted to the voice. Clearly another hallucination.

Then the door swung open, and Baz was flooded with that familiar scent. A thrill traced the length of his spine, pooling at the base. He turned his head to the side and saw bronze curls glowing in the lantern light and an exposed neck that begged for Baz to press his teeth just under the one mole.

“What did you do to me?” Baz said, his voice strained.

Simon just blinked, in some sort of stupor. Baz watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard.

“What’s happening? Why are you here?” Simon’s voice had grown raspy, and Baz could hear a desperation that mirrored his own.

He should probably have been alarmed at the idea of the alpha being there; there was only one way that this situation was going to progress, and it was with Baz taking Simon’s cock. Except Baz’s body only clenched hard at the idea, his skin growing even more sensitive.

Why wasn’t Simon just touching him already?

Slowly, sense was reappearing in those blue eyes, and Baz watched as they swung around the room. He shivered at the loss of the alpha’s gaze, wanting it to stay only on him.

“Why are you here?” Simon repeated.

Baz dropped his head back to the ground and shut his eyes. What was wrong with Simon? Didn’t he understand that Baz was in no position to make any sort of conversation?

There was the sound of footsteps, and Baz could  _ feel _ Simon moving closer to him. Even just standing over him, he could feel the heat and power pouring off Simon. Gods, Baz wanted that warmth.

When he finally opened his eyes, Simon was kneeling in front of him looking very nearly concerned. One of those rough hands reached out and hovered over Baz’s shoulder, not quite closing the distance, and then quickly pulled back.

“Are you okay?” Simon whispered.

Of all the things Baz was prepared for, concern was not on the list. His eyes prickled and he turned his face away, burying it in his arm. Even like this, he couldn’t bear the thought of letting someone see him cry; though the omega part of his brain was wondering if tears might be the way to get this alpha to finally take him. Baz felt disgusted with himself.

“I’m fine,” Baz managed to choke out between gritted teeth.

“Uh…I don’t think you…”

There were more shuffling sounds, and he could feel Simon’s warmth pulling away. Baz snapped his head up, glaring at where Simon had put another few feet between them.

“What are you doing?”

Simon’s eyes went dark, his expression hungry, before he groaned and moved back another foot.

“I don’t like you, but even I know it’s unforgivable to…to…” Simon stalled, his fingers clenching into fists.

“To fuck me,” Baz said. He wasn’t sure how his voice sounded so normal. His control was a thread away from snapping.

A blush flooded Simon’s cheeks, and Baz was torn between thinking it was the most adorable thing he’d ever seen and wondering again who the hell this alpha was.

“It’s unforgivable to…to fuck an omega in distress, but I’m…” Simon paused to swallow again before continuing, “I’m…should I go? I could go get help?”

A shard of ice lodged itself in Baz’s chest at those words.

_ The alpha doesn’t want me. Alpha is going to  _ leave _ me. _

Simon’s nose twitched, his eyes going wide. He crawled closer again.

“What’s happening? Baz, why did your scent change? What do you want me to do?”

That question felt far too loaded for Baz’s brain to even contemplate. His life had never been about wants. He didn’t  _ want _ to be born an omega; he didn’t  _ want _ to be hidden away and treated like something to be kept in reserve for when it was useful; he didn’t  _ want _ to spend heat after heat on his own. But all of that he’d accepted without complaint, because that was what was expected of a Pitch and of a Grimm.

Baz didn’t know what was wrong with his body. This heat was coming on too fast, and barely into the start it was already fiercer than any he had been through before; something must’ve been done to him. Almost no one outside of the monastery and the family knew about his second gender, which meant that Baz should be wary of this alpha who knew his secret—an alpha who was working for the other side. There were so many reasons that Baz should tell Simon to get out and just ride the heat out the best he could, but Baz didn’t  _ want _ that.

Simon’s scent had been haunting him for days, and the care he’d been giving Baz made him feel safe. Maybe it was a delusion from the hormones, the instinct to breed superseding basic caution, but if so Baz didn’t care. It was enough.

Baz wanted Simon’s teeth on the back of his neck, the smell of fire filling his lungs until it was all he was breathing in. He wanted Simon’s hands on his skin, and more than anything, he wanted Simon’s knot stretching him wide open.

For all Baz’s way with words, he didn’t have any to express this. He didn’t know how to ask for what he wanted. It choked up at the back of his throat, but the moment it hit his tongue, it turned to air; to ash.

“Baz,” Simon said, “What do you need?” He reached forward, cupping Baz’s jaw in one of his rough hands and lifting it so that Baz couldn’t look away.

The touch was like lightning tearing through him. Baz couldn’t hold back his whimper.

Something changed in Simon’s face and his grip went from tentative to commanding. He angled Baz’s head, and then his face was moving towards him.

With only a bare inch or two separating them, the rich smell from Simon’s scent glands flooding Baz’s senses, Simon paused. His gaze drifted down to Baz’s lips, then to his neck where he was aching for Simon to scent him, or maybe to scruff him.

“Tell me no,” Simon said, studying Baz’s face. Instead of the expected alpha bravado, Baz thought he heard concern in Simon’s voice—like he actually cared about Baz’s response.

Baz could feel Simon’s breath across his face, and he wanted more. He stayed silent.

When Baz didn’t respond, Simon closed the distance between them, claiming Baz’s lips in a kiss. Baz’s world caught fire.

  
  
  



	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The drought is over hehehe aka the chapter where we kind of forget about a plot

It had taken every shred of Simon’s self-control to hold himself back when he’d seen Baz. The omega had smelled so good, and Simon’s whole body had been demanding that he stake his claim.

Only a shard of reason had reminded him that he needed to make sure the omega was okay—safe—and then get the fuck out of there. It didn’t matter how evil Baz might be, the last thing he’d want was an alpha around if he was going into an unplanned heat.

But then when Simon had tried to move back and give Baz some space, the scent had changed. Instead of the sweet, candy smell that had lured him in, it had grown sharper. That burnt sugar scent had become sweeter and sweeter until it was a choking smell, like rotten fruit. Panic had flooded through Simon. Baz was upset, and all he knew was that he needed to make it better. 

When Baz refused to answer his questions and Simon had forced him to look up, he’d seen a hunger in those storm-grey eyes that mirrored his own—eyes that held a clarity that calmed the remains of Simon’s concern. It was probably still a trap, but Simon couldn’t bring himself to care. In that moment, all he knew was that there was an omega that wanted him and his inner alpha was only too happy to comply.

Baz had all but melted under him during the kiss, the burnt sugar smell exploding around them. 

Breathing in ragged lungfuls of the scent, Simon nosed his way towards Baz’s neck. He trailed kisses down the omega’s pale skin until he’d reached the gland there. It looked as swollen as his own felt, and there the smell was strongest. Simon pressed in close, gently kissing the glistening skin.

He felt Baz go taut under him and heard a muffled whimper. Even on the verge of a heat, Baz was still trying to hold back something. It made Simon want to see what it would take for Baz to surrender completely.

His cock throbbed at the thought. Simon shifted positions, aware of how his length was straining against his trousers, but taking them off meant that he would have to stop touching Baz. 

He grabbed hold of Baz’s wrist his thumb massaging the gland there. With each slow pass, he could feel Baz’s shuddering breaths against his shoulder. Baz’s skin was so smooth and warm; he wasn’t as hot as Simon would’ve expected for an omega going into heat, but it was the reassuring warmth of another person.

Gently, Simon mouthed the swollen spot on Baz’s neck. As he applied more pressure he could feel Baz’s hips rising up underneath him, and when he rasped his chin with its day’s growth of stubble along the tender skin Baz fucking keened.

Pulling his head back to take a look, Simon was stunned at the beauty of the omega beneath him. His mouth had fallen open, thin lips red from where Baz had been biting down, and in the half light of the lantern the sharp planes and hollows of Baz’s face looked like something out of a painting. He opened his eyes and there were tears balancing on his dark lashes, his eyes glassy.

Something fierce and unrelenting swept through Simon. His limbs buzzed with it, and in that moment he would’ve given Baz anything he wanted. He held his breath, waiting to see what would happen. Finally, Baz lifted his head, taking Simon’s mouth again.

The kiss started off chaste, just the press of lips against lips, but Simon couldn’t hold back for long. Soon it became a demand; his request for control and Baz’s supplication. It was only when Simon’s tongue brushed Baz’s canines that he felt another shudder run through Baz and the omega pulled back.

“Sensitive,” Baz murmured.

Simon wanted to try it again, to see what strange erogenous zone he’d found—was this some omega thing that nobody had ever told alphas about? Or…Simon thought back to what he knew about Baz’s childhood. Could Baz be a vampire? The thought should’ve concerned Simon a lot more, but instead he just wanted to hear Baz make that keening noise again.

He brushed his lips across Baz’s face, his eyebrows, his damp eyelashes, the curve of his jaw, and then he moved to the other side of Baz’s neck to the previously neglected gland.This time Simon didn’t take his time with gentle touches; he started straight in with tracing the skin with his tongue, then rubbing his jaw against him. Dizzying scent was surrounding him, coating him, until all that was missing were his teeth marks on Baz’s scent glands.

_ Absolutely not. _ Even with every particle of his being focussed on Baz, Simon knew that he couldn’t stake his claim. He couldn’t truly mate Baz, not without consent. Not ever—just this once, Simon could allow himself to give into all of his driving instincts and be with the omega, but he knew that he could never bond with one. It wouldn’t be safe.

Instead, he started on the long line of buttons that ran down the front of Baz’s shirt. Simon’s fingers trembled with anticipation and if he wasn’t certain that Baz would yell at him later, he would’ve just ripped the shirt open. When he finally peeled back the soft cotton, he was in awe of the pale perfection of Baz’s skin. He was more muscular than a typical omega—clearly one of the ways he’d managed to hide his gender for so long—but Simon liked it. He liked the strength he could see in Baz’s body.

Delicately, he let his fingers drift across one of Baz’s nipples, watching the pale pink nub grow hard and tight. Trailing kisses down from Baz’s throat, Simon worked his way down until his lips and teeth were tugging at the same nipple.

“Snow,” Baz gasped, his hips bucking up.

Simon didn’t respond, instead just sucking harder.

“Snow, once you’ve satisfied your oral fixation, it would be great if you could finally just give me what I need.”

“If you can talk like that, I must be doing something wrong,” Simon mumbled, pulling his head back to look up Baz’s face.

There was a shallow veneer of the autocratic asshole that Simon expected from the heir apparent of one of the oldest families, but beneath it could he see an answering hunger to his own. Baz’s cheeks were flushed, and below him Simon could feel his racing heartbeat.

_ Not enough _ . He wanted to see Baz  _ wrecked. _

“Well…” Baz said. He trailed off into a gasp when Simon reached down to grip the hard length of his cock through his trousers. Sweet scent off of Baz, and Simon thought that he could see a spreading damp spot on the fabric.

_ Slick _ . Suddenly all he could think of was the thought of being inside Baz. Having the omega’s warmth surrounding him, gripping him.

Simon’s hands were frantic as he tugged at the fastenings to Baz’s trousers, Baz’s hands joining his until he was free. Simon had never spent much time considering other men’s cocks, but he was struck by the one that greeted him. It was flushed, and under his gaze it twitched, liquid beading at the tip. For an omega, Baz was bigger than average—enough to probably have passed for beta—and Simon was filled with all sorts of frenzied urges.

He wrapped one hand around Baz’s length and began to work his fist up and down until Baz was tensing beneath him, soft cries coming from his lips and his cock spilling over Simon’s fist and onto his stomach.

“Inside,” Baz mumbled.

Simon’s body ignited at that one word. He gave Baz’s still-hard cock a farewell stroke, then undid his own trousers. When they’d been pushed down enough that his erection was free, Simon reached back for Baz.

He trailed his fingers up Baz’s thighs, skating past the glands that were shiny with slick there.  _ Later _ , he promised himself. Later, he could lavish that spot with the attention it deserved, but for now he couldn’t wait.

When he reached Baz’s ass it was wet with slick, and his fingers glided between the cheeks. He helped Baz adjust his hips, moving his legs, and then Simon was able to get a glimpse of the omega’s dripping entrance.

Simon felt a near painful pull through his groin at that sight. When he sank one finger inside Baz, feeling the way he contracted around him and sucked him in, it was Simon who nearly whimpered.

He knew that there were probably things he was supposed to do, things that would ensure that the omega enjoyed it, but Simon’s mind was an absolute blank. Desperately he sunk another finger inside Baz, stretching him open. Baz moaned at the movement and Simon had to hope he was doing something right.

“More.”

A third finger went in, and Baz’s moan was even louder. All Simon could do was hope that he was ready. With his fingers coated in Baz’s slick, Simon pumped his hand over his own cock and nearly came right there. He clenched his hand hard around the base, trying to ignore the orgasm that threatened. When he was ready, he lined himself up and finally pushed into the omega’s tight heat.

With the flow of slick, the movement was smooth, but it was still so tight. Simon gasped for breath and he continued to push forward until his pelvis was pressed up against Baz’s spread ass.

Baz had gone so still that Simon was worried that he’d done something wrong, until he became aware of how rich Baz’s scent had become. He started to pull out, and the heat of Baz’s insides caressing him sent tingles all across his body that converged at the base of his spine. Thrusting forward again, he saw stars, and when he heard a guttural groan in response he lost all control.

_ More. _ The alpha needed more to know that his mate had truly surrendered to him. He braced himself and leaned forward, reclaiming Baz’s mouth with his own, mapping the contours and learning his taste. 

_ Mine. _

Simon must’ve said his last thought out loud, because he heard another cry from Baz and then Baz was orgasming around him, pearly cum falling on his stomach and chest.

Palms stroked up Simon’s side, making him wish that he’d taken the time to remove his own shirt. Even with the shirt on, he could still feel the gentle pressure, his skin prickling and his need building, and then those hands reached his waist and were pulling him closer, deeper, harder.

The magic that he was always so careful to hold back flowed out of him, joining with Baz’s only to be passed back again. With each loop of the cycle, Simon could feel it build, rising up, and each time it returned the power came back changed. Even his magic was flavoured with Baz’s essence, and it was driving Simon to the absolute edge.

With the taste of Baz on his lips Simon finally felt the pressure that had been building burst. He came in a rush, his body rutting desperately into Baz as stars exploded in front of his eyes. There was a sweet ache as his knot popped, locking him inside the omega’s heat, and then he felt Baz cum around him again.

Their magic popped and fizzed, and with a shatter of glass and bright flare of fire, the lantern exploded and went out.

Simon had just enough sense, lying there in the dark with the final tremors of his orgasm still running through him and Baz quivering around him, to roll over. He may have been shorter than Baz, but he was a lot more solid, and it just seemed wrong to crush the omega beneath him.

Without thinking he sunk one hand into Baz’s hair, amazed at how soft it was. Against his chest he could feel the omega’s low purr, and Simon allowed himself this moment. He needed the contact as much as Baz seemed to.

Locked together, his knot gripped tightly by the omega’s warmth, lulled by his purr, Simon started to drift off. He had no idea what was going to happen next, but like everything else in his life, he’d figure it out when it happened. For now, he allowed himself this one moment to enjoy being close to someone.

  
  



	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehehe have some more pwp
> 
> I swear the plot will return with the next chapter
> 
> Also, for those who are wondering about the change in warnings, this came down to my beta reader and I discussing some of the stuff in the fic and deciding that we'd rather err on the side of caution than say that NO warnings apply. If you're worried about what might be coming up  
> \- violence: we didn't feel like it was graphic enough to merit a warning, but there is going to be some mentions of past violence that get a little dark and some combat (typical fantasy adventure level action)  
> \- smut: as mentioned before, I've been trying to make sure that it doesn't veer into dub con but some might be able to interpret it that way (nothing more than what you've seen in the past couple chapters)

Somehow Baz had never expected to lose his virginity in an underground tunnel to someone who should’ve been treated as an irritation if not an outright enemy. Truth be told, Baz hadn’t expected to ever lose his virginity; it would’ve meant entrusting the secret of his gender to another person. Baz didn’t do trust. And yet, he couldn’t quite find the energy to be upset that Simon had torn down and remade his world.

_ Maybe later _ , he thought drowsily. For now, he was content to lie spread out across Simon, enjoying the lingering buzz of his orgasms and the feel of Simon’s knot and cock still holding him open. His body quivered at the thought, still so sensitive, and he clenched around the intrusion. Baz had never felt so  _ full. _ Normally he would’ve felt ashamed of the way it made him feel content—safe—but in the dark of the workroom with Simon’s steady heartbeat lulling him, Baz didn’t care.

The worst of the heat symptoms had passed, though Baz wasn’t sure how long that would last. His heats usually lasted at least three days, with stretches between the fog of need sometimes as brief as a couple minutes. This felt different. Baz felt more like himself than he had in days.

Later he would figure out what that all meant, but for now, he took the chance to examine the sleeping alpha. Without the lantern, Baz’s vision was washed out to just shades of grey, and he got a voyeuristic thrill knowing that Simon wouldn’t be able to see him.

The difference in their height was enough that being on top was not the most comfortable for resting, but he supposed it was better than being crushed under the alpha’s weight. Simon had the sort of dense build of someone who did manual labour, solid and firm. At least from this position, Baz was able to arch his back until he could press his nose against the crook of Simon’s neck.

Baz had been too overwhelmed to do much before. He’d simply lain back and been swept away by Simon. Now, he could act on some of his urges, and one of his top priorities was to see if Simon’s glands were as sensitive as his own. Baz shivered at the memory of stubble scraping over his swollen skin, how he’d wondered what it would be like to feel that stubble moving against over places.

Softly, trying not to wake Simon, Baz pressed a kiss to the skin of the alpha’s glands. Simon huffed softly in his sleep, one of his hands sliding down to the small of Baz’s back. The drag of calluses over his skin and the warm weight of Simon’s palm set off a fresh new wave of shivers. With his final orgasm, Baz’s erection had finally relented, but already he could feel it returning.

This time when Baz kissed Simon’s neck it was open-mouthed, and he tugged and pulled at the alpha’s skin. Inside him, Baz could feel Simon’s softening cock start to harden again. He hissed at the feel of it—it was just this side of too much—but he didn’t want to stop.

He turned his attention up towards the golden sweep of Simon’s neck. Even in the dark, with the colour drained from his vision, Baz couldn’t think of him as anything less than golden. If Baz was twisted and dark, then Simon was…

_ Don’t be so bloody ridiculous, _ Baz scolded himself.  _ We may have fucked, but that doesn’t stop him belonging to the Mage. _

Except, Baz suspected he was already too far gone. From the moment he’d seen Simon, he’d been captivated. All he could hope for now was to mitigate the damage and pray that Simon never realized how easily he could unravel him.

Catching sight of the moles that dotted Simon’s neck, Baz gave into temptation and pressed his lips there, trying to distract himself. He worked his way up until he’d kissed every one of them, a trail leading up to that spot of skin just under the curve of Simon’s jaw. Beneath his lips Simon’s pulse fluttered.

Baz’s stomach contracted with a new type of hunger. He hadn’t fed since…he tried to think back. He hadn’t thought to get anything before he left, and the previous night had been too jumbled…since the night that he’d first seen Simon at his father’s home, Baz’s thoughts had been so crowded with satisfying his omega urges that he’d pushed aside his need for blood.

But now it was roaring to the front, his breathing going shallow and his fingers grasping at Simon’s shoulders. He dragged his teeth along that stretch of skin, his canines already starting to descend and catching ever so slightly.

A pulse of pleasure worked its way through him at the sensation and his hole clenched around Simon’s nearly deflated knot. Simon stirred under him, his eyes lashes fluttering as he slowly opened his eyes.

“Do you need more?” he mumbled, his hands sweeping over Baz’s back and sides with more deliberation now.

Baz didn’t even know how to answer. He didn’t know how to ask. He knew that Simon was referring to sex, and he wanted that, but mostly what he wanted right now was to sink his teeth into Simon’s neck and drink until some of that yawning hunger was gone.

Shutting his eyes, Baz pulled himself up and away. Simon’s knot had gone down enough that they weren’t locked together, though the feel of the alpha’s clock sliding out left him feeling empty. He lay on his side, unable to tell if what he felt dribbling out of his ass was Simon’s cum or his own slick.

In addition to his hunger, that heat was starting to build under Baz’s skin again, a sweet ache building in his lower abdomen. He couldn’t stop himself from reaching down to wrap his fingers around his own cock. 

_ It’s alright, he can’t see _ , Baz told himself, his eyes locked on Simon as he pumped his hand up and down. Except, he wanted him to see. The return of the heat madness had him wanting Simon to watch him, to push his hand away and use his own. Baz wanted those rough palms dragging along his sensitive flesh until he’d made a mess of himself.  _ More of a mess. _

The sounds of Baz’s movements were obscene in the dark, between the damp noises as his hips bucked and the sound of skin on skin as he jerked himself off. He could see the exact moment that Simon realized what was happening.

His head tilted slightly towards Baz and then his eyes widened, his lips parting. Slowly, he rolled over until he was facing Baz and reached forward. Their fingers tangling and moving together, it didn’t take long for Baz’s release to roll through him, leaving him panting but still painfully hard.

Heat was tearing through him and he didn’t know whether it was pleasure or pain that sparked through his centre, but he knew he needed more.

This time it was Baz who claimed Simon’s mouth, trying to show the alpha what he needed. He tugged and nibbled at Simon’s lips, and this time when Simon’s tongue entered his mouth and brushed against his canines he didn’t stop it. Instead he just moaned, moving closer until he was grinding his cock up between them.

With each brush of Simon’s tongue over his sensitive teeth, Baz could feel the second wave of release building in fire and fury, reminding him of exactly what he wanted to do.

He pulled back with a gasp and stared at Simon’s racing pulse point.

“Can I…”

“What do you need?” Simon said. 

The secret that Baz was a vampire was guarded as closely as his omega identity, but it seemed that Simon would get to know both.

“I need to feed,” Baz whispered.

Simon turned to look over his shoulder, one arm stretching out to grab something from behind him.

“Yeah, of course. Shit, omegas need…what do omegas need? I don’t have much, but I have a few things,” Simon said.

Baz groaned and pressed even closer, driving his nose back into the divine smell of alpha with the promise of blood. As gently as he could manage, he nipped at the skin there.

“No. I need to feed.” He tried to make it as clear as he could without saying the words. Normally Baz had so many words, but for this, he had nothing.

Baz felt Simon nod, his length swelling between them at the way Baz had been lavishing attention on his neck. If he’d been in any other state of mind, he would’ve tried to make sure Simon fully understood what he was asking—if he was in any other state of mind, he wouldn’t have even asked—but Baz took the nod and the arching of Simon’s neck as permission.

The give of Simon’s skin and the welling up of blood was near enough to push Baz over the edge and into another orgasm. He latched his mouth onto Simon’s neck, and when the blood hit his tongue, Baz broke. His body rutted up against Simon, his cock spurting cum up between them.

Drinking blood had never been like this. It had been something Baz did to stay alive. It was a necessary evil that allowed him to keep healthy and functional, like eating leafy greens, but this…Blood from the butcher or blood from animals that Baz hunted around the monastery was little different from eating meat. Though more bland. And cold. This was warmth that went straight to his core and radiated out. It was the tingling release of stepping into a hot bath; the beautiful agony of Simon taking him apart.

As he drank, he was able to discern notes that hid beneath the coppery taste. It tasted like Simon’s smoky scent—like his magic. And with each pull, Baz could feel the crackle of power coursing from Simon and into him.

He had vague memories of this sensation from the previous heat round, though towards the end he’d only been aware of the feeling of being filled. But this was like Simon was pushing inside him in another way. It was terrifying, and almost enough to pull Baz back.

He drank as much as he thought was safe, then pulled his head away, giving the puncture marks a final lick. When he looked at Simon’s face, the alpha’s expression was dazed, his eyes dark.

“Was that…” Baz swallowed back the rest of his words and settled for, “Are you okay?”

Simon answer was to surge forward, pushing Baz over until he was on his back and reclaiming his mouth in a demanding kiss. His hands grabbed hold of Baz’s wrists, thumbs grinding into his sensitive glands, and Baz panted into Simon’s mouth. And then Simon moved Baz like he was a rag doll rather than a grown man, until he was on his knees with his ass raised in the air and his forehead pressed against the cold stone. One of his palms swept from Baz’s shoulder blade down to his waist and then slid over one ass cheek, leaving tingles in its wake.

He felt the hard press of Simon’s cock sweeping between his cheeks, only brushing against his hole. Baz felt a slide of wetness down his thighs.

This time, Simon started with two fingers. Baz keened at the stretch as they pushed inside him.  _ Good. Better than a moment ago. Still not enough. _ He needed his alpha to take him. His throat had started to itch with the demand to have Simon’s teeth in him.

When Simon crooked his fingers a certain way, pleasure exploded through Baz’s body, and his hips jerked as he let out a long moan. Both of them froze at the reaction, and then Simon tried it again with a little more pressure. Baz saw starbursts in front of his eyes, and when a third finger joined the assault he unravelled, rocking back on Simon’s fingers until his cock was jerking with another orgasm.

Finally,  _ finally _ , as his twitching body was starting to recover from the last release, he felt the broad tip of Simon’s cock prodding at his entrance. As Simon pushed in, the noises were positively obscene, and the smooth drag as he filled him up had Baz’s stomach fluttering. He arched his back, trying to urge Simon to go deeper. The angle allowed Simon’s cock to brush against that same spot inside Baz that his fingers had just been teasing, and Baz wondered if it was possible to die from too much pleasure.

The pace Simon set was brutal, one hand clamping onto Baz’s hip and the other tugging and pulling at his nipples. Baz lost himself to sensation, the heat of Simon as he surrounded him, the feel of the wet kisses Simon rained over his shoulders and back, the endless ache as he sought out another release. When he came, his body going tight and his world bright, tears stung his eyes.

Simon pumped into him a few more times and then Baz felt a rush as Simon came inside him again, followed by the stretch of his knot catching at Baz’s entrance. It skated the edge between too much and the bone deep satisfaction of knowing that he was filled completely.

When Simon moved, trying to negotiate their connected bodies onto their sides, the pull of his knot had another burst of cum leaking from Baz’s tip and his body tightening around the alpha’s cock. Simon hissed, though his hips still rocked a little into Baz.

Together, they stretched out, Simon warm and firm at Baz’s back and one arm pressed against his chest. It made Baz feel secure—claimed.

This time, Baz was able to drift off to sleep.

  
  



	14. Chapter 14

Waking up slowly, Simon felt the heavy press of darkness around him. His whole body was tender, like he’d just spent a week out on the road with a caravan, but there was a lingering feeling of relief. The rut symptoms that had been haunting him had dropped down to a manageable level, and his magic felt banked.  _ Sated _ .

To his side he could hear soft, steady breathing as Baz slept. After the last round, they must’ve pulled apart, Baz now somewhere to Simon’s right.

Simon sat up and tried to organize his thoughts. What had actually happened to him?

_ Mate, you had the shag of your life _ . 

Except he suspected it was more. His hand rose up to his neck and he poked at the area where Baz had fed from him. Simon melted at the memory of Baz’s teeth pressing into him, tongue laving at his neck, and the dizzying pull as his blood had been drained.

_ Is it wrong to want that again? _

He couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if the bite had been closer to his glands. Tingles spread out through his body at the thought, his pulse turning fast and heavy. He shoved those thoughts aside and tried to focus on something else. 

Simon pressed his face into his hands, groaning quietly. He needed a plan—he’d  _ had _ a plan, and it was important he remembered that. Though, in the dark, with his skin smelling like Baz, Simon struggled to remember  _ why  _ it was important.

_ Think _ .  _ What’s your first step? _

Breathing in slowly through his nose, Simon tried to think of what Penny would do, feeling a flash of horror at the idea that he might have to tell Penny what had happened. But another breath in, and he was able to push that thought aside for later as well. 

The obvious first priority was health. Simon was pretty sure that was right. It sounded right. Spread out on a stone floor, covered in slick and cum, they both would’ve been a sight if Simon could actually  _ see  _ anything. And even with the furnace-like temperature that his body normally ran at, he was starting to feel the cold and damp latching hold with a fierce bite. It wouldn’t take long for them to catch a chill if they stayed like this.

His first instinct was to pull Baz close, but Simon didn’t think that was a good idea. Instead, he fumbled around beside him in the dark until he found his rucksack. It didn’t take too much rummaging around inside the bag before he felt the rounded shape of his waterskin. He pulled it out, and poured out a little onto the hem of the spare shirt he always carried (another lesson Simon had learned the hard way). Or rather, he tried to pour a little out, but he ended up soaking nearly a third of the shirt and getting water all over his lap.

Turning towards Baz, Simon stretched out a hand until it connected with smooth skin. A couple of seconds of awkward patting and Simon was able to figure out that Baz had rolled onto his back.

Simon shuffled so that he was kneeling just to the side of Baz before he started to wipe off Baz’s chest and stomach. He wasn’t sure if he was doing that great of a job, but it felt like something he needed to do, if only to get his alpha instincts to ease up a bit. 

Once he’d finished cleaning Baz up, Simon spent a good few minutes searching through the dark to find his clothes. Baz’s shirt had been screwed up into a ball, shucked sometime between the first and second round, but his trousers had only been kicked a few feet away.

With the garments in his hands, Simon stared down at where he was pretty sure Baz was sleeping and wondered how he was going to do this. Even if he’d been able to see what he was doing, Baz was big enough that it wouldn’t be easy without his help. There would be no way of dressing him without waking him up.

So, Simon settled for folding the clothes up as neatly as could be managed in the dark and placing them beside Baz. Then he reached back into his bag for his cloak and draped it over Baz.

Cleaning himself up was a little easier. He just had to pull his pants back up. His shirt, which still hadn’t been removed, was an absolute mess, but Simon would worry about that later. For now, it was on and that was good enough.

After that Simon figured his next step was to see about the broken glass from the lantern. He was amazed that neither of them had cut themselves during their second bout. With the force of the explosion, Simon expected that shards would be all around the room.

The sensible way to go about it was obviously to pull out a fresh torch—the previous one had been dropped and gone out during the first heat frenzy—but Simon was oddly reluctant. As much as he would have loved the chance to look at Baz, he was hesitant to do anything that might wake him up.

So instead, like the idiot he was, Simon set about doing another task by touch. He quickly decided all he needed to do for now was make sure there weren’t any large pieces right around them. Anything farther off, and the finer pieces that were indistinguishable from the grit on the floor, could be ignored. 

Most of the pieces he found by cutting himself on them.

“What  _ are _ you doing?” Baz’s posh voice was rough with sleep, but managed to contain that familiar tone of disdain. Simon knew there was something wrong with him when he realized that he actually _ liked _ that tone. Though, it might have been from the contrast with the panting mess that Baz had been not long before.

Magic swirled around the room, and then a ball of light flared to life in Baz’s palm. Simon blinked as the sun-bright ball filled the room with a blinding white light before it shrank down to something more like the glow of a candle.

Baz’s mouth pursed as he stared down at his hand.

“My magic tastes like yours,” he mumbled.

Simon’s body went hot at the thought of what that might mean, and at the pale curve of shoulder and upper chest that were revealed as his cloak slid down Baz’s body to settle around his waist.

“Uh, sorry,” Simon stumbled over his thick tongue. “I…lost control…”

Baz glanced up at him, his dark brows lowering as he looked at Simon consideringly.

“No. It’s fine.”

In those short words, Simon felt as though there was an odd understanding being built between them. The shape of it was hazy, and he couldn’t describe it if he tried, but it prompted him to smile at Baz.

“I tried to stay quiet. I thought after…after we…I thought you could use some rest.”

Baz had found his clothes and paused in the act of pulling his arms through his shirt, the ball of fire hovering in the air between them. His body was still as he looked at Simon, and then he pulled his shirt up and started to fasten the buttons, his eyes moving down to where his fingers worked.

“Snow, it’d be a miracle for the dead to stay silent when you’re moving about. What made you think you’d be good as a thief?” Baz said.

“I’m not a thief.”

“Our first meeting would suggest otherwise.”

Simon was slowly being pushed off his axis, his world starting to wobble. With every button, Baz’s defences went up and he retreated back into his icy shell, and Simon didn’t know what to do. At his best, he was a blunt instrument—if a problem couldn’t be solved by running at it full tilt, then he was useless, and he suspected Baz took the sort of finesse that came from growing up in drawing rooms and posh schools.

“I’m  _ not _ a thief.”

Baz finished the last button and finally looked up at him, one eyebrow lifting.

“That was different,” Simon said, his face warm. “I was told that I was  _ retrieving _ something. And I needed the money. It’s hard to turn down work when you’re skint.”

Starting on his trousers, Baz paused briefly to give Simon that same assessing look. Simon pushed up his chin and crossed his arms in front of him, trying to pretend like this distance didn’t bother him. And also like he wasn’t enjoying the sight of Baz’s pale legs and strong thighs, the curve of his hip, and the slight red marks where Simon’s fingers had gripped him tight. All too quickly, the trousers were pulled up and the elegance of Baz’s body was hidden underneath plain black wool.

“So…” Baz said.

Simon had to snap his gaze up to meet Baz’s, pulling it away from where he’d been trying to figure out if he could see much of Baz’s ass through his trousers.

“So?” Simon said, his voice puzzled. “So what now?”

Baz sighed, shoving a hand through his hair and raking it back from his forehead to reveal the sharp widow’s peak.

“No, so what are you doing here? How did you find me?”

With a shake of his head, Simon dropped his hands to his sides.

“Penn—a friend of mine found some references in a book to this location, and we decided I’d come take a look. I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Bunce is helping you, huh?” Baz said with a wry smile.

Simon could feel his throat closing. Was this a mistake? He could live with mistakes that ruined  _ his _ life—he didn’t have much to lose—but he’d never forgive himself if any of this touched Penny.

“Penny’s not involved. Not really,” he said quickly.

Baz was silent, and what had been a comfortable quiet between them before started to become unbearable. Simon could feel it pressing in on him until he thought his eardrums would pop.

“Why are  _ you _ here?” he finally asked, needing to break the stillness.

“Because my mother’s journals mentioned—” Baz cut himself off, shaking his head.

The wall between them was growing. Simon should’ve been pleased that Baz’s heat had passed, and that it had passed so quickly, but the distance between them made his skin prickle.

Baz jerked his head up and glared at Simon. With his dark hair and pale skin, his brows lowered, he looked somewhere between a prince and a villain.

“Could you not do that?” Baz’s voice was tight, and Simon could see his jaw working.

“Do what?”

“That alpha posturing. Your smell is…everywhere, and with the way your magic is pouring out, you’re going to draw any creature that lives down here towards us.”

Simon’s body locked up and he swallowed heavily. He hadn’t even been aware of his scent, or the way he was leaking magic, but with Baz’s words, it was suddenly the only thing he could notice. He could still smell the sweetness of Baz’s omega scent, but it was slowly being overwhelmed by the smell of smoke as the power that had been banked after the second heat round was now dripping off him. The ambient magic was also rising up, waiting for its chance.

“Sorry,” Simon muttered, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyelids. He needed to figure out where the hell he was going to go from here, and he needed to do it quickly. “Are you going to be okay? Like with your…your heat?”

Baz’s eyes widened and the faintest flush rose up in his cheeks.

“Yes. I suppose a thank you is in order,” Baz said.

“Will you need another…” Simon’s face went hot before he could finish the sentence.

Across from him, Baz’s eyes darkened, even if the rest of his face stayed locked in that icy mask.

“No,” Baz said, the word drawn out. Simon almost thought he heard some wistfulness there.

All of this was too much for Simon. He wasn’t good at subtext, and interactions that moved like a chess match were only going to get him into a worse spot. He was at his best when he knew what he was doing and the most direct way to get there. 

“Look, I don’t know what you’re up to, but for right now, down here, I think it might be a good idea if we team up.”

“Me, with you?” 

The way Baz said it managed to make it sound like the most absurd idea, but Simon pushed on.

“Yeah. I’m not here for the Mage. This is to try to figure out what’s going on—what I’ve been pulled into. I just want to understand. Can’t we combine forces? Do you really want to search around down here on your own? Clearly you’ve already seen that it's not a good idea because you’re—”

“Because I’m an omega?”

Simon froze, his hopes crashing around him. But he knew he couldn’t stop.

“All I’m saying is that maybe, just until we’re back up there, we can work together. As soon as we’re done, we can go our separate ways and you’ll never have to see me again.”

“Until you break into another one of my family’s properties?” Baz said, though Simon could see a smile twitching at the corner of his lips.

“So where do we start?”

  
  



	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Wayward Son release day!! 
> 
> I'm going to be taking a brief hiatus from posting--partly so that I can blitz Wayward Son, but also so my beta reader and I can edit some of my other neglected projects. I have a backlog of fics for my Strange Neighbours series that need editing and an original short story that I promised myself I would submit while it's still fall. I should be back to something approaching a regular schedule in a week or two.

Baz wondered how things could be so effortless for Simon. Was that just what it was like for an alpha? For all of his stumbling over words, he was almost painfully forthright.

It was the same sort of intensity that had been in his touch, and his kisses.

_ Gods, I really have become nothing more than a heat-sick omega. _

Soon, he would be writing verses about Simon. He’d have to ask Fiona to kill him before that could happen. But he did have to admit that working together—for now—was a good idea.

It was only luck, and Simon, that had saved him from his heat. And his hunger. Now that the worst of it was past, he might’ve been able to handle any creatures that could be lurking down here, but it would be safer with another person. And with the alpha’s magic still sparkling through him like glitter swirling through his own magic, Baz knew exactly how powerful Simon was.

_ Far better to get a proper measure of him _ . He would work with Simon long enough to find out what his mother had been doing and why the Mage was so desperate to get her notes. And as soon as he was done, he’d move on.

A sly thought circled up, whispering that it probably wasn’t going to be that easy, but Baz forced it aside. It was the only way. Simon was on the other side of the war that had been brewing in Watford for decades. Even if Baz had  _ wanted _ to be bonded, or there’d been a chance that his father would let him reveal his omega status, being with Simon wasn’t possible.

Baz tried to tell himself that the ache in his chest was merely from the cold, and not the turn of his thoughts.

“I’ve gone through all of the workshops along this hallway and there’s nothing here,” Baz said.

Simon turned to look around the room, his gaze sweeping over the empty interior before pausing on the table. He walked closer and crouched down to look under it.

“Find anything?” Baz said, his voice sharp. Didn’t the idiot understand what ‘nothing’ meant?

Pushing up off his knees, Simon stood back up, his expression charmingly sheepish.

“I just thought maybe there’d be something underneath. Taped to the underside or something. Or a note carved in there.”

Baz hated how Simon could make even the most idiotic ideas almost cute.

“You think my mother got down on her knees to carve some message into the underside of her desk? I can assure you she had far better things to do.” Baz’s tone was sharper than he’d intended as he tried to hide his reaction to Simon’s general presence.

“Your mother? How do you know this room was hers?” Simon didn’t even appear phased by Baz’s tone.

With a shrug, Baz said, “The magic. It feels exactly like hers. And it recognizes me.”

Simon’s eyes grew confused, his teeth pressing into his lip, before he swept another look around the room.

“I don’t feel it. Not anything like the magic that was in her workshop. I can only feel the underground magic.” he said, his words clipped.

_ He’s worried _ . There was something about the power down here that rattled Simon. The sensible thing would’ve been to move on—now that they were temporary allies, Baz shouldn’t be antagonizing Simon—but still feeling too vulnerable, he couldn’t help himself. If he could get Simon on the defensive, maybe the alpha would forget out about how weak he’d seen Baz; about all of the secrets he now knew.

“Not a fan? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were scared of it, Snow.”

Simon’s gaze turned hot and his eyes focussed on Baz. Maybe  _ this _ was what Baz had wanted. After having been the sole focus of Simon’s attention, losing even a little of it had put him on edge. Tingles raced through him, and his pulse felt heavy like his body could come apart with the force of it. 

_ I’m pathetic. _

Stalking forward, Simon didn’t stop until he was only a foot away. With his heat all but gone, Baz’s body temperature had dropped back to its usual range. He could feel the warmth rolling off Simon along with his magic, and he craved it. He wanted to be surrounded by that heat—consumed by it—until the chill that always stayed with him was gone.

He took a step backwards, needing more distance.

“The magic down here is different than the wild magic above ground. It has its own personality, and it has a way of twisting things.”

“Really? I don’t know if you’re aware of this, Snow, but magic isn’t sentient. It’s like saying that sunshine has some sinister plot. Magic is what it is, and you just have to know how to handle it.”

Simon made a noise of frustration and dragged one hand over his face, muttering something.

“Can we just move on?” Baz said. “I’d prefer to minimize the amount of time I have to spend down in this glorified cave.” He needed to limit the amount of time he spent with this alpha. Too much more, and he suspected that he wouldn’t be able to make the clean break he needed; already he wasn’t sure how he would get through his next heat on his own.

“Sure. Fine. Yeah.” Simon took another look around the room, whistling softly. “They really didn’t leave anything behind when they disbanded, did they? I guess we’ll have to go back and take the other corridor. Hopefully there’ll be something down there.”

With an easy motion, Simon picked up his rucksack and hooked it over one shoulder. He started to reach for something inside before a curious expression crossed his face and he looked back to Baz.

“How long can you keep that going?” Simon said, jerking his chin towards the ball of light floating in the air.

Baz looked at it speculatively, trying to run the maths. By his count, he already should’ve been feeling the drain. Light spells weren’t intended to be a long-term solution, they were just supposed to last long enough until you could find a torch, or light a candle. It was a continuous drain of power to maintain them. But Baz wasn’t even feeling the light-headedness that sometimes came with keeping a spell up for too long. He wanted to think it was his mother’s lingering magic helping him, but he couldn’t forget the jolt he’d felt as Simon’s power had coursed through him. Somehow, Simon had pushed part of his power into Baz; enough that Baz felt as though he could keep the light going all day if they needed.

“How many torches do you have?” 

“Three. But I guess, there might be some more that were left behind. We can stay on the lookout.”

Was it better to conserve the torches or the magic? It might’ve felt as though Simon had an inexhaustible supply to draw on, but Baz couldn’t trust that. All of his education had drilled into him the need to be wary, to save magic where he could. And the idea of using Simon’s power made him uncomfortable. It felt far too intimate.

“Let’s use the torches.”

Simon nodded, pulling one out along with a box of matches. He lit it quickly, and with the reddish glow that filled the room, Baz let his spell drop.

He followed Simon back out into the hallway, and they retraced the route to the entryway. From there, they took the second passage.

The ground sloped steeply downwards, and instead of the stone floor of the other corridor, this one was just packed dirt. As he followed behind Simon, Baz could feel his shoes skid against the ground; it wouldn’t take much for either of them to slip.

Damp worked its way out of the walls and ground and ceiling, sinking through Baz’s clothes until he was sure the musty chill was wrapped around his bones and through his sinew. His fingers began to feel numb, and it took effort to stop his teeth from chattering.

Simon stopped abruptly and Baz nearly plowed into him. Before Baz could say anything, Simon tugged his cloak free from around his neck and draped it over Baz’s shoulders. The wool smelled like Simon, with faint traces of his own scent, and it had some lingering warmth.

There was a pause, Simon just looking at him as if he was waiting for Baz to respond before he turned and started to walk again.

Baz should have said something. He should’ve protested, or made a cutting remark—probably, he should’ve thanked Simon—but his tongue wouldn’t move. So he just continued to follow Simon, pulling the cloak around him tighter and trying to pretend that it was purely for warmth and not because the smoky smell was comforting.

Unlike the other corridor, there weren’t any rooms leading off of it. There also weren’t any lingering remains of his mother’s magic; the tunnel didn’t have the traces of  _ any _ mages through it, or they had been completely drowned out by the wild magic—Simon’s ‘underground’ magic.

At first he’d wondered why Simon was so nervous about the wild magic, but with each step, Baz felt it closing in. It brushed against his skin, leaving him itchy, and a few tendrils reached up to try to join with his own power. It wasn’t an entirely unpleasant feeling, but it made Baz uncomfortable. This was a power that wouldn’t want to be controlled. And for all of his words about magic, this  _ did _ feel like it had an intent of its own; if ever magic could be sentient, this was it, and Baz was sure he wouldn’t like where its will would take a spell.

So what had his mother been doing down here?

Again, Simon stopped, but this time his attention stayed focussed in front.

“There’s a door,” Simon said, his voice sounding odd after the silence of their walk.

“Thank you for the obvious. What’s behind it?”

Blue eyes glared at Baz, a scowl across his lips. It only made Baz like Simon more.

“How am I supposed to know? I just had a vague map pieced together from different books, you had your mum’s diary. What did she have to say about this place?” Simon grumbled.

“Nothing. The journal just mentioned that she was packing up her stuff, and that they were leaving the workshop behind. Nothing about another area. I’m not even sure this was here when she was using the place.”

Simon scoffed.

“Well who else could’ve built this? You think some other group found this lair and then went to the trouble of building another level?”

Baz tried to call back to mind what he had read. “She wasn’t the only one. There was a whole group, probably as many as there were rooms off the other hallway. She mentioned something about someone not wanting to leave—Davy. What if he built this after everyone else had left?”

“Yeah, maybe.” Simon turned back to the door, his gaze settling on the iron handle. He reached forward.

Acting on instinct, Baz knocked his hand back.

“What are you thinking?” Baz demanded as his heart thudded in his chest. “If I’d gone to the trouble of building this, I’d have set traps at the only point of entry.”

There was an odd light in Simon’s eyes as he considered Baz. Slowly he nodded.

“But there weren’t traps anywhere else…”

“We’ve probably just been lucky.”

Simon’s breath came out in a long sigh and he nodded again.

“So how do we get around the traps? This type of handle can’t have a practical one, so it would have to be magic. Don’t know about you, but with a magical trap, all I can do is take the hit and hope that it’s something I can heal.” Simon had a surprising weariness behind his words that made Baz wonder how many times he had been in situations like this.

For all of his skills and education, Baz couldn’t come up with an option any better than Simon’s approach. The magic here had grown so thick that any clues were completely obscured.

Finally, Baz nodded.

“Okay, but we’ve got to be sensible about—” He was cut off from explaining that  _ he _ should be the one to take the risk when Simon grabbed hold of the handle and yanked.

There was a faint pop and the smell of ozone, but the door opened smoothly and Simon was still standing.

“Wow,” Simon whispered, staring down at where his hand still gripped the iron. “There was definitely something, but it’s like…it’s like it was eager to see me.”

Baz did not like the sound of that. He wanted to get out of there, but they’d come too far. He needed to see this through.

“Come on, Snow. Let’s go see what we’ve found.”

  
  



	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back!

Simon’s thoughts should have been focussed on the task in front of him. He was in a bloody underground lair for a mysterious order, and the way the spell on the door handle had responded to him still had his skin crawling, and yet his attention kept straying to Baz.

He couldn’t figure the omega out. One moment it seemed as though they might have the start of something tentative and bright, and the next he was sure that Baz would grind him under his heel if he had the chance. And through it all, concern was tearing at Simon—concern for  _ Baz _ .

Everything about this place had him on edge, and his instincts told him to get his omega out of there. He wanted to sling Baz over his shoulder, bolt back to the surface, and find somewhere private where they could go back to the way they’d been when Baz had completely unraveled before him.

_A terrible idea._ _The_ worst _idea._ But that didn’t stop Simon from wishing it could come true.

When Baz walked past him into the room, Simon had to stop himself from reaching out to touch the pale skin of Baz’s neck showing above the dark wool of his cloak. He could just make out the swell of his scent glands; Simon wanted to pull Baz close and bury his nose right there. Instead, he gripped the base of the torch tighter.

Once Baz was through, Simon followed him, leaving the door open behind them. He didn’t like the idea of having nothing between them and the long stretch of the tunnel they’d come through, but Simon had learned the hard way that closed doors had a way of locking. Particularly around him. He’d rather have to be a little more vigilant but know they would have an exit should they need it.

The room beyond wasn’t much. Like the tunnel, it was roughly made, as if someone had just carved out a hole. Even the walls were slightly rounded. Magic was laced through the space, but no more so than in the tunnel. It was just the usual threads that Simon would expect, with no pooling to suggest bigger magic. There were no furnishings.

Desperately, Simon’s gaze darted around, searching for  _ something _ .

“This can’t be it, right? Why go to the trouble of making this room, the tunnel, if it’s just going to be…this?”

His chest ached with disappointment. He’d come all the way out here for nothing. There was no information that would miraculously help him get free of his deal, no tools to use as a bargaining chip, just a dark, dirt room. He turned to Baz, expecting to see a mirror of his own misery. But instead, Baz had wandered over to one corner to look down at the ground, his hair falling around his face and his nostrils flaring.

“There’s blood down there,” Baz said.

“On the ground?” It wasn’t much—actually, it was still nothing—but at least Simon could pretend like it was something.

“No, underneath. Below.”

“Oh, something that’s sunk in?” Simon said, trying to figure out what that might mean. Probably nothing. Just enough blood in one spot that it soaked through the dirt.

“No. Below.”

Simon’s teeth were on edge, and he glared at Baz’s back where the stupid git was still staring down at the floor in the flickering torch light.

“What does that mean?” he said, each word slow and deliberate.

Baz finally looked up at him, his dark eyes flashing. But instead of responding right away, he pulled his shoulders back, his chin rising, and gave Simon a condescending smile. It was the sort of smile that Simon had grown used to seeing—the smile he used to see as a child when visitors to the home would come and talk to the children; the smile that officials in Watford would give him when he’d tried to join any of the guilds. It was a smile that haunted Simon, and he hated it. Even more so on Baz’s face. Sometimes it was worn with a kind intention, but on Baz it was mean, intended to strike straight through him.

“Snow, if we’re going to work together, then you’re going to have to keep up. I can’t stop to explain every two minutes. I can understand that Bunce has been doing your thinking for you, but I assure you I have no such intention.”

“It’s Simon.” Simon said softly.

“What?”

“You keep calling me Snow, but it’s Simon. You should call me Simon.”

“I really don’t think that’s necessary,” Baz said, his words quick and spoken with a forcefulness that showed he expected that to be the end of it.

“No one calls me Snow. You should call me Simon. I’ve been calling you Baz.” For some reason, Simon couldn’t let this drop.

Again Baz looked away, turning to stare at some patch of wall so Simon could only see the curve of his jaw. If he’d been a little bolder, he might’ve walked over and forced Baz to turn around and look at him.

“Regardless, it’s better for us to keep things impersonal—”

“So you were able to take my knot—twice—but you won’t call me by my first name?” Simon pressed, cutting Baz off.

He could see the slight tremor that ran through Baz, and he hoped it was at the memory of how it had felt to be locked together, of Simon stretching him open and filling him up. It eased some of his anxiety to know that he could cut through those layers of ice and artifice and still stir a reaction.

“Snow,” Baz said, drawing out the name. “That was a one time thing. Don’t pretend that it means we know anything about one another now. I fully expect that once we’re out of here, you’ll go back to whatever rat trap you’ve been living in and I’ll…I’ll go back to the monastery.”

Simon wondered what it was that had led to the pause, the bitter twist to Baz’s words. For the brief time he’d known Baz, Simon had assumed there was a certain ease to his life. But for the first time, it actually occurred to him that Baz was an omega. An omega that no one knew about. Even Penny, with her nose for information, had thought that Baz was an alpha. As heir to two of the oldest families in Watford, what did that mean for Baz?

He heard what almost sounded like a sigh before Baz started to speak again. “Can we get on with this? There’s another room. The smell of blood is too far away to be in here, but it’s strong, like there was a lot of it.”

And there was  _ that _ , Simon realized. The heir wasn’t only an omega, but a vampire. He wondered what exactly life at that monastery was like, whether Baz would ever be able to come back to Watford and take his place as head of his family.

“Baz,” Simon said tentatively, unable to hold himself back. “When did you become a vampire?”

Baz’s entire body went still, the line of his back looking painfully stiff, and Simon cursed himself for speaking. Despite what they had shared, Baz had a point; they  _ didn’t _ know each other.

Simon was surprised to hear Baz’s voice. It was still strong and clear, but there was a defiance behind each word.

“You know about my mother? Bunce probably told you about when she’d died.”

A child. Baz had been turned as  _ a child. _ Behind Baz’s brief words, Simon could hear echoes of distant pain and grief and loneliness. He knew he should say something, but words wouldn’t come to him. He could feel emotions and thoughts clogging up his throat, a giant mass that he couldn’t hope to pick apart.

Pointing with one long, pale finger, Baz said, “The doorway is somewhere here.”

Simon seized onto that gratefully. It was probably for the best that they just move on. They would see this part of the workshop through to the end, and then return back to the surface ready to never see each other again.

“You able to smell the doorway?” Simon said as he sidled up beside Baz.

Baz lifted one brow and gave him a sneer.

“Please, don’t go out of your way to be an idiot on my part. Are you really that much of a numpty?” 

Simon bit back a smile. 

“So go on. How’d you know?”

With a sigh, Baz stepped forward and brushed his palm along the dirt of the wall. Slowly, as earth crumbled to the ground, the seams of a door started to appear.

“So you saw it with some sort of crazy vampire sight then?”

Baz sighed.

“You just can’t help yourself can you?”

The two stared at the outline of the door and searched for a latch, or even hinges, but there was nothing.

“How do you reckon it opens?” Simon asked.

Baz heaved another sigh, which Simon thought was a bit much; it wasn’t an unreasonable question.

“Snow, how about you pull your weight here. Why don’t you tell me.” Baz’s voice was pointed and his look sharp.

Simon waved his torch, shadows careening around the room with the movement, and did his best to give Baz a pointed look of his own, but from Baz’s reaction it wasn’t terribly effective.

“I’m the one who found the torches,” Simon added, in case Baz had missed the point.

“If you hadn’t blown up the lantern, we wouldn’t need torches.”

Blood rushed to Simon’s face, and he hoped the room was dim enough that Baz wouldn’t be able to see the flush rising up his neck and into his cheeks.

“Not exactly my fault,” he said.

It was gratifying to see the way Baz inhaled quickly, his eyelashes fluttering. Scent flooded the space between them, and Simon was surrounded by the smell of burnt sugar. He felt a warmth coiling in his stomach as he remembered the sensation of letting go of his magic, the stretch of it, and the feel of it looping through Baz to connect them together.

Simon turned his attention back to the door, deciding to take this as a victory. Down here, underground, it was almost too easy for him to let his vision go blurry and look at the magic. Between one heartbeat and the next, he was surrounded by the silvery threads of power strung around them. Beside him, he could see Baz’s magic glowing a rich red, but the rest was all that bright silver.

Quietly, he examined the door. Magic traced the lines of it, like a second door drawn on top, spells filling it in like cross hatching. At first glance the magic had the same brightness of what coated the rest of the room, but it felt calmer to Simon. The magic down here was inquisitive; the longer he stood there, the more the lines warped towards him, until they were starting to converge upon him. But the magic of the door stayed where it was. He leaned in closer until he could taste the stale air of old spells.

“Does this look different to you?” he asked, half to himself.

“You can see things like that?” Baz said, incredulity ringing through his words.

Simon looked back over his shoulder, forgetting that Baz’s face had faded behind the pooling glow of his magic. Despite its vivid colour, he couldn’t help but think it looked cold. He wondered what it might’ve looked like before Baz had been turned into a vampire.

“Sure. I’m surprised someone from one of those posh schools can’t do it. I think it’s one of the first things I figured out—before I even left for Watford,” Simon said with a smile.

He could hear the ill-concealed frustration in Baz’s reply.

“No, how can you see anything without your power getting in the way?”

Lifting up one of his hands, Simon glanced down at himself, but he didn’t see anything other than the normal twist of the silvery-white skeins. He shrugged and turned back towards the door.

“Used to it, I guess,” he said, even as he wondered what Baz saw when he looked at him.

As his gaze traced the lines on the door, he became aware of the way they were curling in on themselves only to bloom outwards and twist off in other directions. Squinting further, he realized that what had looked like the same silver as the rest was actually brighter and closer to something like moonlight. It was a little like the colour of his own magic, but even whiter.

“There’s magic here. It’s been spelled in place,” Simon muttered under his breath.

Baz leaned in close, one hand resting on Simon’s shoulder for balance. Simon could feel the cool press of Baz’s fingers through the fabric of his shirt. Unbidden, he wondered what it would be like to have Baz touch him when he was like this. During his heat, Baz had been so much warmer; what would it feel like to have those chilly fingers grabbing hold of him? Was every part of Baz this cold?

Simon nearly groaned with the effort it took to wrench his thoughts back.  _ Now is not the time. _

“So what sort of spell is it?” Baz asked, his low voice so close to Simon’s ear that he could feel Baz’s breath on his neck.

Before Simon could give into his roaring alpha instincts, he stepped away from Baz’s touch and stood up. He took a deep breath, holding it for a moment, and then slowly let it go.

“I don’t know,” he finally said. “I can see it, but I don’t recognize it. And it’s too intricate to describe.”

He let the magic drop away from him and his surroundings regained focus, including Baz giving him a speculative look. A second later, Baz reached forward and pressed his hand to the door. With his palm against it, his fingers splayed, there was a surge through the room and Simon realized that Baz was forcing his magic out into the door.

Baz yelped and yanked his hand back. Without even thinking about it, Simon moved to his side, grabbed hold of Baz’s wrist, and pulled his hand close so that he could take a look. The skin looked a little pink but otherwise unharmed. Still, he didn’t let it go, tracing one finger along the lines of Baz’s palm. He was so close to lowering his face to Baz’s wrist and breathing in the scent that was being given off from the gland there. It was only Baz pulling his hand free that saved Simon that embarrassment.

“I’m fine. You can let go.”

“Yeah. Right.”

Silence hung between them, heavy and unwieldy. All Simon could do was turn away and refocus on the challenge at hand. The mysterious door was a problem he was far more likely to solve than Baz Pitch.

This time, it was Simon who pressed one hand to the door. There was no thought on his part; the moment his skin came in contact with the dirt, he felt the magic that waited there—all those twists and spirals—starting to move, circling in on him. Beneath his palm he could feel warmth starting to build until it was almost too hot for him to stand, until he was about to yank his hand back, and then he heard the sound of stone on stone, grinding and groaning as dust sifted down towards them, before the door slid into the wall.

Through the door, it was more like a small niche for relics or a priest’s bolt hole, like he’d seen in the dragon cult’s lair. It was little more than three feet by four feet, but when Simon glanced down, instead of floor he saw a hole with a rough ladder carved into one side.

His next step was automatic; they’d come this far, and the only way was forward. There was no way he wasn’t going to see what was down there. He sat down along one end of the hole, then passed the torch over to Baz. Bracing himself as best he could against the edges, he levered himself over and onto the rungs of the ladder.

“Really, Snow. You couldn’t even wait to cast a sensory spell? Or to check for traps?” Baz muttered, even as one of his hands grabbed hold of Simon’s shirt like he was ready to pull him up if something happened.

“Hasn’t worked for us so far, why bother?” Simon grinned up at Baz before starting to clamber down.

It wasn’t very far, and soon Simon reached the bottom of the ladder. Tentatively, he stretched his foot out into the dark, hoping that there was ground below. When he felt something firm, he shifted his weight to that foot. The ground held and he let himself down.

Up above he could still see the vague flicker of the torch, but the rest of the room was dark.

“Oi, Snow. Here, take this,” Baz called down, his voice echoing strangely.

Simon glanced up in time to see the torch as it dropped down towards him. Pure luck let him grab the base in time, and he could hear his heartbeat thudding in his ears, his body shaking with it.

The entrance to the hole was quickly blocked as Baz climbed onto the ladder far more gracefully than Simon had, and soon he’d reached Simon.

“What was that?”

“It was me giving you the torch. I could hardly carry it while I climbed down.”

Baz jumped lightly off the ladder and turned to face Simon, but his gaze drifted over Simon’s shoulder and his eyes went wide, his lips all but disappearing as his mouth went tight.

“What?” Simon demanded, already twirling about.

His stomach clenched, and he suddenly became aware of an acrid stench competing with the smell of damp earth.

The chamber they’d entered was far bigger than the last. It wasn’t much taller than Baz, only about a foot or so, but it was vast. The walls here had been given more care and attention, patches covered in plaster that had long since started to crumble away in chunks. In what remained of the plaster, Simon could see signs of drawing and writing—there was one area that looked like the symbol that was supposed to mark Natasha Pitch’s journals; the symbol for the order. Two doorways led off the room, and at the far end opposite the ladder was a broad stone slab set up like an altar.

It could’ve just been a table, but the positioning of it in the room gave Simon little doubt. Even with neglect, it was still smooth and almost glossy, the firelight reflecting off the pale stone. Starting in the middle of the table and spreading out, following the edge and running down, was a dark stain. Underneath the table and scattered around the corners of the room, Simon could see bones. Human bones. Very small human bones.

“Is that the blood you smelled?” Simon asked quietly, already knowing the answer but still needing to hear Baz confirm it.

He heard the sound of Baz swallowing, a look of disgust across his face that mirrored Simon’s own. Baz nodded.

“The ground over there is soaked with it,” Baz said, his voice hoarse.

Simon wondered exactly what it was they had stumbled into.

  
  



	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a bit of a warning for those that aren't keen on violence, especially any directed towards children (implied pretty heavily here)

The smell of old blood was everywhere. Baz couldn’t breathe without the coppery tang filling his mouth. The altar was the focal point of the smell, where it grew stronger and more bitter—foul and cold—but it imbued the whole room.

Even without the piles of bones, Baz knew that many people had died in this space.

In the room above, the pulse of energy had been low and steady, a hum that he’d felt in his molars, but down here he could feel it pulsing wildly and sending blood rushing to his head.

Baz staggered with the heady feeling, shutting his eyes and trying to force the nausea to pass. Through the torrent that surrounded him, he could feel sparks of something familiar.

_ Simon. _ He didn’t know whether it was Simon’s magic filling the room, stretching out to him, or if there was something that Simon shared in common with the magic of this space, but he recognized the feeling from when Simon’s magic had coursed through him. He could still feel some of it lingering.

Once the worst had passed, Baz walked over to join Simon where he was crouched over a small skull. He watched as one of Simon’s fingers drifted along the stained curves, his face pale underneath his tan and despite the reddish glow of the torch.

“This is a child, isn’t it?” Simon whispered.

Baz wasn’t sure what to say, so he only nodded. Looking around, he could count at least four or five skulls, all of about the same size. The nausea returned, bile pressing hot and vicious against the back of his throat.

“What were they doing down here?” Simon said, his voice still soft. He rose up, blue eyes looking up at Baz expectantly like Baz would have an answer. “What was your mum doing here?”

“She wasn’t here.  _ This _ wasn’t her,” Baz snarled, hoping that if he said it with enough conviction he could believe that absolutely. “If you knew anything about my mother, you’d know that she was a good person. Her research was about…”

But there was the problem. Baz didn’t know anything about what her research had involved. It was one giant blank, a blank his father had never thought to mention, and that Fiona didn’t want to talk about.

“I could feel her magic enough up above that I could follow it to  _ her _ room. There’s nothing of her here. The magic is different. It’s…dark,” Baz said, trying again.

Simon shook his head, bronze curls catching the light.

“So who? Who built this? Who did this?” Simon’s voice rose with each word, echoing around the chamber, the crackle of energy building.

“Snow, if you don’t calm yourself your magic is going to overrun the room. Do you want a cave-in?”

“How do I fucking calm down? You get it right? Somebody was killing  _ kids _ down here!” 

Baz stepped close and wrapped one hand around the back of Simon’s neck. He could feel the magic surge through Simon before it started to pour into him. It was the most exquisite sensation, straddling the edge of pain and pleasure, and already there was a comforting familiarity to it.

“Simon,” Baz said, locking his eyes with Simon’s blue ones. “Calm the fuck down. They’re already dead. You can’t do anything for them, not without calming down and taking the time to think and look.”

Simon’s breath was a gasp, like he was coming up for air, and then he nodded.

With reluctance, Baz let his hand drop, the buzz and heat of Simon lingering only for a second before it was gone, leaving his own body too still and too cold.

He stalked over to one of the walls and squinted at the remains of the painting there. Pressing one finger to the brittle plaster, he traced the curves and lines of the familiar symbol.

“I don’t suppose you were able to figure out what this means?” Baz said.

“You mean you didn’t? I thought for sure the journal would say.” 

“Believe it or not, people don’t take the time to explain their mysterious organizations in their research journals.”

“But then wouldn’t it be about her  _ research? _ Her notes and stuff.”

Baz’s jaw hurt as he ground his teeth.

“It was all just vague notes—things that would only be meaningful to the person who was doing the work. The variable she was changing, adjustments to the materials—before you say anything, I can assure you there was no mention of blood, from children or otherwise.” Baz paused for a moment and then looked sharply at Simon. “Wait, don’t tell me  _ you _ know. Oh…wait, of course.  _ Bunce. _ What did she find?”

Up until the presentation of his second gender, Baz had still been forced to have some small interactions with the other children of the Old Families. Malcolm and Fiona had tried to keep it as infrequent as possible, worried about what his developing vampiric side would do, but they’d thought it would be worse if Baz was never seen. He’d never been overly fond of Penelope Bunce, but he’d at least appreciated the fact that she was smart. Of course it would be her who would find out what Baz couldn’t.

“Penny’s mum told her. Apparently it was all about trying to max out people’s power. Increasing it. Something like that.”

Baz’s gaze swung back towards the bones and the sick feeling returned.

“Power limitations,” he said.

“The symbol is for the order—we couldn’t find anything beyond that.”

There was a terrible sort of irony in standing there—in a place dedicated to finding the path to unlimited power—with Simon Snow, the walking power bank. The order probably would’ve loved him.

Then again, if they’d given it all up and switched to other research, maybe not. Maybe there was a reason his mother had returned to Watford.

“Can you make out any of the other stuff?” Simon said. He’d moved on a little to stare at the remains of some grotesque picture done in red and black. The blending of the two looked too similar to the stain on the altar for Baz’s liking, and the image of a face had the appearance of looking out at them. Baz shouldn’t have been so easily spooked, but he wanted to get out of the room.

“Just some images. The words are too faded, and there’s too much missing. I can’t even tell what language it is, but some of the letters look like…” Baz trailed off, tilting his head as he tried to get a better look. His eyes narrowed in on one particular letter, something curling in on itself with lines scoring it. He’d seen that in only one text at the monastery, and the recognition had Baz’s entire body going tight, the need to get as far away from this spot as possible now a screaming demand running through his thoughts.

“This is Abyssal,” he said, only effort keeping his voice even.

“What?” Snow was tracing his finger along some of the letters under the staring half-face.

“Abyssal. The language of the Abyss.” Simon didn’t seem to grasp the importance of what Baz was telling him, so he added, “Demonic. It’s the language of demons.”

Simon snatched his hand back, his horrified expression raking over the walls again and back to the bones.

“So that’s what…”

“After the order disbanded, there must’ve been someone who stayed behind and continued their research. Or maybe they disbanded because of the direction of this person’s research,” Baz said.

“You think they were successful?”

“I don’t know. There’s nothing that suggests a demon was here, but nobody really knows what a demon is like. The visitations are so rare that there could be signs that we’re missing.” Baz’s breath came out in a sharp exhale, and he looked again at the writing. “I suppose we should examine the other two rooms before we leave.”

This time, when Simon walked over to the first door and opened it, Baz didn’t say anything about traps. Checking certainly hadn’t done them any good so far, and Simon had an uncanny ability to just push through whatever was there. Baz figured it was just the sheer quantity of power that Simon could force through himself into the doors without even thinking, but he couldn’t stop the niggling thought that there might be something else. The way the magic had been responding to Simon…it was as if it  _ liked _ him. Baz knew that wild magic could be unpredictable, but this was something else.

The door opened easily enough for Simon, without even the crackle of a spell being forced apart. Baz watched as Simon, the torch in hand, drifted through the doorway, the chamber around Baz growing dim.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, and he enjoyed the brief respite from having to see the plasterwork and the bones. But in the dark, Baz felt more unsettled, like there was something waiting there.

“Anything to see?” he called out, his voice echoing strangely in the dark.

“A bedroom,” came Simon’s muffled voice.

Baz hurried over, joining Simon in the room.

It was about the same shape and size of the workshops up above, and it had been given almost the same amount of care. The floor was still dirt, but it was well-packed and there was a broad rug that had been spread out to cover most of the room. From the looks of it, the wool had once been bright colours, birds and flowers woven into the design; even from the mouldering remains, Baz could tell it would have been expensive. Up against one of the walls was a wood frame double bed, the glossy dark wood fallen victim to time and damp. The mattress was bare, but there were rags heaped in a corner that looked like they might once have been a quilt. There was also a small bookshelf, empty now, and an armchair set up beside it. On the walls, there were small shelves, some still containing the curios and decorations that might’ve once given the room some charm; on one there was a small ceramic vase, and on another a tiny glass figurine of a bird.

The room tasted of sadness, of confinement.

_ You’re just projecting _ . It was far too easy to see his own small cell from the monastery in this room. What sort of person lived down here? He wasn’t sure how to reconcile the desperation that echoed through all the small decorations with the chamber that was just beyond the door.

Like an echo of his own thoughts, Simon whispered, “Who would live down here?” 

He reached down and picked up a bit of fabric. Baz watched as he pulled at the dingy cloth before, with dawning horror, he realized what it was: a baby’s sock, with the wispy remnants of embroidery lovingly stitched on.

He wasn’t sure if it was better or worse to wonder if all of those tiny skulls out there had belonged to children who’d been cared for.

Simon dropped the sock and turned on his heel to leave the room behind. Baz could hear the soft thud of his boots as he drew away. Before he could think too much about it, he leaned down to scoop up the sock and tucked it into his pocket, and then joined Simon. As melancholy as the bedroom was, it was clear they wouldn’t get the answers they needed from it. Which left the second room.

By the time Baz had walked out into the main chamber, Simon had already opened the next door, and Baz could hear the sound of rummaging inside.

This room was almost identical in size to the previous one, but it was set up to mirror the other workshops. There were some built-in bookshelves, slightly bowed as if they’d once held something heavy; a table that spanned most of one wall; and two chairs that had been left tucked in. Unlike the workshops up above, this one still contained some of the detritus of its owner. There was a stubby pencil left on the table, a cloudy beaker on one shelf, and a scattering of pages that Simon was already leafing through.

Simon passed a handful of papers into Baz’s hands and then resumed his reading.

It didn’t take long for Baz to see that they had nothing. He could have guessed that—no mage would go to the trouble of building a space like this and not take any of their useful or damning work away with them—but the spiky scrawl confirmed it. All he could see were lists of spell components with no guide as to what the spell might be. From the darkening expression on Simon’s face and the snap of power beginning to pour off him, it was obvious he was having the same luck.

“We’re not going to find anything, are we?” Simon said, his eyes still scanning the page in his hands.

“No. Of course not.” Baz had meant for his voice to sound dismissive, but instead he could only hear defeat. This was the end of the line for them. There was no evidence of any other rooms, no final chance to get answers to the flood of questions; all they could do now was head back.

Baz handed the pages back to Simon and watched as Simon shoved them into his bag.

“Penny’ll be able to find something,” Simon said, though from the fervour in his voice Baz felt like the words were more for Simon’s benefit than his own. 

“Sure, she’ll be able to give you a best guess at the spells being done with a few weeks of indexing spell components. But we already know what type of work that’s for. It’s everything else that’s missing.” Baz’s tone was caustic, his frustration leaving his mouth bitter. “Let’s go, Snow. I think we’ve seen enough.”

***

The mood as they climbed the ladder back to the room above was one of quiet weariness. Everything about the day—about the week—had begun to weigh on Baz. Aches still lingered from his heat cycle, from being knotted, and he was exhausted from fighting with his own thoughts. He just needed a break from the smell of alpha and the crackle of Simon’s power—he knew that if he could get a bit of distance, he’d be able to find the resolve he needed.

Baz had just reached the top and stepped back onto solid ground when he saw a flicker below, where Simon was, and then the torch went out.

“Snow, you alright?” he called down, leaning over the gap.

“Yeah. I’m fine. The torch just went out.”

“Thank you for that summary of the obvious. Do you need some light to get up?”

There was the sound of brief shuffling below. Even with his eyes re-adjusting to the dark, Baz still couldn’t see anything much that far down.

Finally Simon’s voice replied, “No, I’m going to get another torch going. I just need to find the matches.”

Another moment or two of shuffling, fabric on fabric, and something rattling, and then Baz heard Simon’s curse.

“I’m not sure we have the time for you to explore the full extent of your ineptitude. Can you please just hurry up?” Baz said, hearing the worry that was undercutting his words.

“It’s fine. I’m fine,” Simon said. “I just dropped the matches. It’ll take me only a second to find them and then I’ll be good.”

“Well, then a little haste?”

“What’s the rush? I thought you were living as a shut-in.”

“Snow—” Baz growled, but he was cut off by the sound of a yelp. “What happened?!”

“I thought I…it’s fine. I’m just going to come up in the dark—you can do that spell right? Enough for us to get back?” Baz had grown so used to the alpha’s calm assurance that the worry ringing through his words had him concerned.

“Stay where you are,” Baz snapped, starting to build the spell.

Another yelp echoed up from below.

“Simon!” 

“Go! You need to get out of here!” 

_ Sod that _ .

Baz pulled his energy into a ball of light. It wasn’t as effortless as it had been before, but it was still far easier than it should’ve been. He forced the light to descend down to the chamber below and then raced down the ladder.

His heart stopped the moment he was able to leap free and see what had happened. Simon was standing there, a knife clutched in one hand, his face streaked with dirt, and a tear in the leg of his pants just below one knee. Even without needing to see the bright red showing through the tear, Baz could smell the fresh blood. It taunted him, the memory of exactly what it tasted like roaring through him and setting fire to his veins.

Facing off against Simon was a creature, a human shape fused with shadow, its skin corpse-grey, eyes hidden under a fall of matted hair, teeth gnashing—too many teeth. It had one hand raised to it’s lips, and a long grey tongue was licking Simon’s blood off it’s scaled fingers and claws.

“What is that?” Baz asked on an indrawn breath.

“I don’t know. Do I look like I know? You’re the undead one here, shouldn't you know?” Simon said, his eyes never leaving the beast.

Baz gauged the distance between the creature and the ladder, wondering if there was any chance that they could both run for it. Maybe if he held off the beast while Simon climbed up, and then if Baz used his speed, it could be okay…

The beast lashed out, its speed staggering. Between blinks it was on top of Simon, claws going for his throat.

Power ripped through Baz and he let fly the first spell that he could think of.

Thunder filled the room, driving through his ear drums and rattling his bones, but it forced the beast back. The blast had pushed the beast a yard away from Simon, leaving it crumpled on its side.

_ Let it be dead. Let it be dead. Let it be dead. _

The stillness of the body should have given Baz comfort, but it only set him more on edge. Wave after wave of revulsion travelled across his skin and his breathing grew shallow.

_ Let it be dead. _

“Simon, you need to get out of here.” 

From the corner of his eye, he saw Simon struggle to get up. He moved a little closer to Baz, but he still didn’t leave.

“Don’t be an idiot. Of course I’m not leaving you here.”

“I’ll be fine,” Baz said, but even as he spoke he could see the beast pushing itself up in jerky motions.

Again he sent power forward in another blast that had dirt raining down around them. The thunder blast was good enough to gain a little distance, but as soon as they started to run it would be on them. He needed something stronger.

Beside him, he could feel the blazing heat of Simon’s body, dripping scent and power. The beast was quicker to get up this time, and Baz watched as its nose jerked in Simon’s direction, nostrils flaring.

Whatever it was, it was drawn to Simon.

A warm palm grabbed hold of Baz’s wrist, and then Baz could feel Simon’s power being pushed into him. His breath stalled at the feel of it pressing up against the inside of his skin, like he was about to explode.

The thought of the spell had barely formed in Baz’s mind before the magic was burning through him, his whole body set alight. Lost to the thump of his own heartbeat and the ripples of power that had a heaviness building in his groin, it took Baz a moment to realize that the spell had launched. He watched as the beast was thrown backwards once again, but this time the limbs snapped at odd angles.

Beneath his feet, Baz felt a tremor, followed by more dirt raining down on them. He looked desperately between the beast, still trying to claw its way up onto its broken legs, and the ladder.

“We need to go.” He shoved Simon forward.

“You first.”

“Really?” Baz said, but at the flood of alpha pheromones he just sighed and started to climb. It was far faster than trying to argue with an alpha who had gone into protective mode. Baz had to remind himself that there was absolutely nothing endearing about Simon behaving that way. Nothing at all.

He was quick to scale the ladder, Simon following soon after.

The two stood over the hole, their breathing heavy as they stared down. Baz had inexplicably managed to keep the light spell going through the whole encounter, and it hovered a little ways in front of them. They couldn’t see much, but there was the sound of dragging, and then a terrible keening that had the hairs on the back of Baz’s neck standing on end.

“Where did that come from?” he said.

Simon gave him a blank look and shrugged.

“It just…appeared. Like it rose up from the ground or something.”

Baz couldn’t help but glance down at the dirt below his feet. Were there more of those creatures? Could  _ that _ one heal itself? Could it come up through the ground they were standing on?

“We need to go,” he said already walking towards the door back to the tunnel.

“My bag!” Simon’s expression was desperate, going between Baz and the ladder.

“If you even think of going back down there to…that, then you’re on your own.”

“But the pages are in there. And my supplies. And…”

“Those pages had no value whatsoever. And everything else you can replace.”

“Maybe you can replace them, but some of us can’t just go out and buy—”

Baz didn’t wait for Simon to finish talking. He was done. Instead, he grabbed Simon’s wrist and dragged him towards the doorway. Once they were out in the hallway, he shoved Simon a little in front of him and closed the door after them.

Placing his palm against the door, he tried to find the spells that had been there before. He could feel remnants of them, like the remains of a ripped seam, but he couldn’t pull them back together. It was only when Baz felt some of the threads of Simon’s power pouring out that he got any response from the lingering spellwork.

He thought of the way the door had opened for Simon. Maybe Simon was what was missing from the spell.

“You need to seal the door,” he said, stepping aside to make room for Simon.

“What? The only wards I know go wrong, and with the—”

Baz shoved Simon towards the door, lifting his hand and pressing it against the wood. He placed his own palm over top, feeling the press of Simon’s knuckles against his own, his fingers interlacing with Simon’s.

“The ward is already there, you just have to put it back together.”

Simon’s hand grew warmer with the pulse of magic until Baz thought that he was going to be burned, but he couldn’t pull his hand away.

“Just feel for the magic that’s there, and then picture it whole.”

Nodding, Simon closed his eyes, his brow furrowed as he concentrated. And then Baz felt the seal closing as a jolt ran up his arm. He pulled his hand away, stumbling back and bumping into Simon’s chest.

Simon wrapped an arm around his waist to steady him, and Baz felt the rise of Simon’s chest and each exhale against the back of his neck.

“Will that keep it in?” Simon’s words were air across Baz’s nape.

“Maybe.”

Pushing Simon’s arm away, Baz stepped free of his hold and turned towards the tunnel. Fatigue was slamming through him, and he could feel a fragility to his body that hadn’t been there in a long time. He needed to get out of there, go home, and figure out his next steps.

The trip back through the tunnel was quicker than the descent, though with each step, Baz’s energy dropped. Simon followed along behind, quiet and watching Baz in a way that should’ve made him unsettled.

By the time they made it back to the entrance and were staring up at the trap door, it was all Baz could do to keep his eyes open. Simon prowled the room, muttering something about his damn rucksack and rope, until Baz pointed out that they could simply use a spell.

Simon struggled through the few spells he seemed to know—Baz was surprised Bunce hadn’t taught him more—each one as ineffective as the last. Finally, Baz gathered up the remains of his energy to hoist them both up.

Gasping, the two lay side by side in the dark of the collapsed building. The beams of sunlight were gone, and through some of the larger gaps, Baz could see stars.

And then he felt his muscles turn to wet sponge, trails of cold and heat spreading out through his body. His thoughts went heavy and dim until he was surrounded by a soft comforting void.

  
  



	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween! 🎃
> 
> And a quick shoutout to all of my readers who've been following along as I post this, and to you lovely people who've been leaving comments! ❤️ They totally make my day

Simon stared down in panic at the unconscious omega. One moment Baz had been fine, glaring at him in that way that made Simon want to kiss him, and the next he was slumped on the ground.

Squirming closer, Simon put his cheek next to Baz’s. He could hear shallow breathing, could feel it against his skin, but Baz’s face felt so cold.

As gently as he could, he shook Baz’s shoulder, trying to wake him up, but Baz didn’t so much as twitch. If it wasn’t for the breathing, Simon would have thought he was dead. 

_ Is he dead? _ Simon wasn’t entirely sure of where vampires fit into the alive/dead classification—he’d have to ask Penny later.

It took a great deal of effort, and by the time he was done the cut on his leg was throbbing, his shoulders and arms aching, but Simon managed to drag Baz free of the building.

Outside, with Baz stretched out next to him on the grass, Simon took a deep breath of the night air. Up above him, stars were scattered across the sky, the black expanse infinite and the brilliant dots of light reaching out to them; the air smelled of green, of grass and leaves, with hints of some flower Simon couldn’t name.

He allowed himself to sit there in silence and let his breath even out, his thoughts settle, before he figured out what would happen next.

His eyes rested on Baz. While the firelight had given Baz a warmer cast, the starlight only made him look paler, like something made of moonlight. It threw his cheekbones into high relief and made his dark hair seem as though it was spun from shadows. He looked every inch the young heir to two powerful families; he looked untouchable. 

Tentatively, Simon reached over and pressed his fingers against Baz’s forehead. His skin was cool, and he made a soft noise, finally moving to press closer to Simon’s touch.

Simon took another glance. They were just in the shadow of the house, still several miles too close to what lurked below for Simon’s liking but there weren’t exactly a host of other options. The hike through the woods had required magic even in daylight, and Simon didn’t want to think about what could be waiting for him out there—there was still a Goblin bounty on his head, for one—and that was even if Baz were conscious.

If Penny had been there, she probably would’ve suggested that they leave Baz behind, but Simon couldn’t do it. He kept thinking of the way Baz had returned to that cursed chamber for him—the way that Baz had tried to have Simon escape first. For all of his sneering, Baz had actually been pretty helpful. The alpha in Simon was thrilled; it felt like Baz was accepting him as his mate.  _ Simon _ wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

His cloak was still draped around Baz, a little dusty from their adventures but otherwise fine. As gently as he could, Simon unfastened it and pulled it off. Then he rolled Baz onto his side and lay down behind him, draping the cloak back over both of them.

Every line of Simon’s body was pressed up against Baz, who felt chilly even through his clothes. Simon tucked one arm under Baz’s head and slung the other over his waist, pulling them closer. Again Baz sighed, and he wriggled a little further into Simon’s touch, his ass bumping right up against Simon’s cock. From where he was, Simon was perfectly situated to see Baz’s scent glands, still puffy and red, and every breath was filled with the sweet scent of omega. 

His head went dizzy with the smell, and he screwed his eyes shut, trying to remind himself that this wasn’t the time. This was about  _ warmth _ , about making sure that Baz was okay. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from pressing a soft kiss to the skin just above.

Then, Simon gave into the weight of the day and fell into a sleep filled with burnt sugar scent and grey eyes staring into him.

***

When Simon woke up, he knew immediately that something was wrong.

The sky had begun to lose the sharp edge of night, deep slate grey giving way to dark blue, so they could only have slept for a few hours at the most. Baz was still asleep, but his breathing had grown harsher and he was like ice in Simon’s arms.

Simon pushed himself up so that he could stare down at Baz’s profile.

_ What do I do? _

Panic tore through his body and set all of his nerves alight, demanding that he do something. This was an omega— _ his omega _ —and Simon needed to find a way to fix him. His first thoughts were for the provisions in his pack, before he remembered that the pack was still somewhere underground with the monster they’d fought. And did vampires even eat jerky?

Simon’s thoughts spun out with each second, losing control, as power started to well up underneath his skin. He stared down at his hands and the faint veil of silver that crackled around him.

He pressed one hand against Baz’s chest to feel the achingly slow beat of Baz’s heart. Forcing all the air out of his lungs, Simon gathered what control he had learned and focused on reigning his power in; he tried to picture it like a funnel, all channeling towards one point in a constant flow. And then he started to mumble the words for the only healing spell he knew.

By rights, the spell should’ve required a few pinches of some herbs. For any spell that had physical components, Simon had learned that while the items might not always be necessary, they were sometimes able to act as a rudder or guide for his power, keeping it in check. But without anything on hand, he had to hope that sheer power and intention would be enough.

The chill of Baz’s skin beneath his palm slowly began to ease, but it was like pouring a glass of water out onto the dirt. For a moment, the power welled up and Simon thought it might be fine, but it quickly soaked down and the chill returned.

_ How did Baz get this run down?  _

The heat cycle alone could have been enough to throw off the equilibrium of Baz’s magic, and Baz’d had to keep the light spell going from the chamber all the way to the moment he’d collapsed. And then there were the thunder wave spells, and the final spell to pull them out of the pit…

Simon had never fully appreciated how useless he was until that moment. He knew he was rubbish—Penny was too nice to say, but he knew that even she was frustrated with his slow progress—but it had always just felt like  _ his  _ problem. He was strong enough and quick enough that he could get through most fights with just grinding through, and he’d thought that would be enough. It had been far more important to him that he get better at holding the power back, that he never let it hurt anyone, than truly being able to wield it.

With a final push of magic, Baz gasped and his eyes fluttered open, but Simon could still feel the chill rolling off him. Whatever effect the healing spell had, it would be temporary at best. He didn’t even know if there was something to heal, or if Baz was just worn out.

And then Simon realized that he was an idiot. He knew that he was an idiot more often than not, but this time it was a special case reserved for when he managed to miss something glaringly obvious.  _ Baz was a vampire. _

Outside of sex, the other time Simon had been able to actually  _ share _ his magic, rather than just push it through Baz, had been when Baz had fed on him.

Simon grabbed hold of Baz’s shoulders and pulled him up until he was sitting, his head lolling and his body limp like a rag doll. He climbed over Baz’s legs so that he was kneeling on either side and gingerly let his weight rest on Baz’s thighs. With Simon’s urging, Baz was able to slump forward against him, his head resting on Simon’s shoulder.

“Baz, you need to feed.” 

There was no response, and when he looked over he could see those grey eyes, dim and vague, looking up at him. Simon laced his fingers through the silk of Baz’s hair and pulled him closer, towards his neck.

“Come on, mate, you need this. I’m sorry I’m not whatever pedigree noble’s child you’re used to feeding on, but we’ve got to do something.”

There was the softest whisper of lips against his skin, setting off quivers all through Simon’s body. And then, teeth scraped over his glands. Simon went from panicked concern to half-hard and a little needy in about five seconds.

He remembered the feel of those sharp teeth sliding into him before, the flash of pain followed by the heady buzz, the way his body had felt like it had turned to liquid. What would it feel like for Baz to bite him  _ there _ ? Not just a claiming bite; for Baz to  _ feed _ there?

Simon tightened his grip on Baz’s hair and shifted his hips, looking for some relief from the building pressure, his erection already straining against his trousers.

Baz’s teeth moved upwards, nipping and testing Simon’s skin until finally he found the spot he wanted. His bite was slow, the slide of teeth puncturing skin and sinking in with an exquisite pain that seared Simon’s nerves and had his body tightening. Just in front of him, he could feel Baz’s erection and the shivers that were passing through his body as he began to lick and suck at Simon’s neck.

Eyes fluttering shut, Simon gripped Baz’s hair tighter, his other hand wrapping around Baz’s back to pull them closer together.

The sound of Baz drinking was soft and wet, sending fire blazing through Simon’s chest, and he ground himself forward, needing some relief for the pressure that was building.

Magic welled up and then, like a dam betting released, it started to pour into Baz. The relief of it was almost enough to make Simon cum right there, and he couldn’t have stopped the rocking of his hips if he’d tried. When one of Baz’s cold hands slipped under Simon’s shirt to rest on his waist, Simon had to force back the release that was so close.

Baz’s hand slipped down towards the small of his back, and then it was sliding over his trousers to his ass. Never stopping his feasting, Baz yanked Simon’s hips closer until Simon could feel his erection brushing up against Baz’s. Almost in time to the rhythm of Baz’s pulls of blood, their hips lazily rocked against one another, the friction nearly enough to put Simon over the edge.

When Baz finally pulled away his lips were a brilliant red and blood trailed down his chin, his eyes nearly black. He paused for a moment, his gaze sweeping over Simon, and then he claimed Simon’s mouth in a kiss.

This kiss was different than the ones before. Down in the cave, Baz had been desperate and so pliant, it had been about Simon giving Baz what he needed, but now…Baz was just taking it for himself.

Simon wasn’t sure if as an alpha, he was supposed to be turned off by the omega taking control, but if anything it just made the ache fiercer, the sweep of his pulse dizzier. He wanted to wrestle back control—to see what it would take to make this omega submit to him—but he also wanted to let Baz have his way and see how far the omega would take it.

This time, there was no heat to blame for what they were doing.

_ Just fatigue and magic and blood.  _ The thought was a grim douse of cold water. Simon should pull away. If Baz was finished feeding—if he was better—they needed to end it here. Baz’s heat was one thing, but now…

Except Baz didn’t seem to have any qualms. His mouth continued to move against Simon in a wordless demand. With tongue and teeth and lips he continued his assault until all of Simon’s vague thoughts went up in smoke.

_ If Baz wants this… _

Reaching between them, Baz wrestled a hand into Simon’s trousers, fisting Simon’s aching length. Simon hissed at the feeling, at the drag of those cool fingers. One of Baz’s fingertips dragged along his deflated knot, twists of pleasure following in its path.

“Baz, I’m not sure how much longer I can—”

Simon was cut off with another drugging kiss as Baz’s hand started to move with more purpose, tighter and faster up and down his cock. All he could do was give himself over to the feel of it all and surrender.

He moaned into Baz’s mouth, tugging at the soft strands of hair twined through his fingers. There was an answering groan from Baz, and when Simon tugged a little bit harder he felt the jerk that ran through Baz’s body.

The night scent had been obliterated by the surge of sugary sweet, but this time he could catch the hidden notes of cedar and bergamot. Simon wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to smell an omega blocker potion without getting hard.

Slowly he slid his hand down to Baz’s neck, and with the little thought that remained as Baz jerked him off, pressed his fingers against the scent gland, massaging his way around the edges and working his way inwards.

Baz’s hand stalled in its task, and Simon wasn’t sure whether he felt pleased at the effect he was having on Baz or frustrated that it had ended when he was so close. But at the moan that came with the slow drag of his fingers, Simon lost even that much thought. He pulled his mouth free and started to work the other side of Baz’s neck at the same time with his lips and tongue.

Quickly Baz started to move his hand again, but this time there was no finesse. The movements were jerky and ragged as Baz came apart under Simon’s assault, but Simon didn’t care.

With a final twist of Baz’s wrist around the head of Simon’s cock, he came right there, cum spilling out over Baz’s hand and onto his own trousers. As the waves of pleasure rolled through him, Simon still wanted more. He couldn’t forget the feeling of sliding into Baz, of filling Baz up, and he was determined to see the omega break apart for him.

When those fingers continued to stroke over his sensitive cock, shivers tore through him. Simon wrapped his fingers loosely around Baz’s wrist and pulled his hand out of his trousers.

Baz’s expression was oddly defiant, even daring, as he looked at Simon. It felt like a challenge—one Simon was only too happy to take. His fingers still shaky from the remains of his own orgasm, he unfastened Baz’s trousers, freeing his erection.

It was flushed dark, the slit leaking pre-cum, and at Simon’s touch Baz hissed, his hips jerking up into the touch.

Simon smiled, quick and fierce, and then guided Baz back until he was lying down. With Baz stretched out before him, Simon wanted to take his time, he wanted to fucking  _ feast _ , but the sky was lightening with every minute and they wouldn’t have long until daybreak. For some reason, Simon felt as though whatever they had would end with the rising of the sun.

He worked the trousers down Baz’s legs, pushing them apart. Below the proud line of Baz’s cock and his tight balls, Simon could see the glistening wetness of slick.

He had no idea what he was doing; all he knew was that he needed to taste Baz. As quick as he could manage, he rolled Baz over onto his stomach and then sunk forward. Pressing kisses to the curve of Baz’s ass, Simon worshiped it with his tongue and lips, sucking marks into the skin and reveling in every moan that Baz made, every twist of his hips.

“More,” Baz groaned, the word barely intelligible.

Simon finally moved towards Baz’s entrance. He paused a moment just to look, savoring the way that he could see slick pouring out in a shiny mess, smelling like candy. And then he pressed his mouth down.

Sweetness exploded across his tongue, and when he worked his tongue inside he felt Baz clenching down around him.

He reached around and grabbed hold of Baz’s cock, starting to touch him the same way he’d touched Simon.

It didn’t take long before Baz was sobbing against the ground, keens rising from his chest as he begged Simon to let him cum. A final pump combined with a twist of Simon’s tongue, and Baz went rigid, a long cry erupting from him before he went limp.

Simon wanted nothing more than to push his trousers down and shove himself into that heat. He wanted to feel Baz surrounding him, to feel the omega’s slick dripping down his own body. He wanted to rut into him until there was nothing left but the bliss of being locked together with another knot. Instead, Simon helped move Baz back over, tugging his pants and trousers up and pulling him into his chest.

“You alright?” he asked, his voice sounding wrecked to his own ears.

With every swallow, he could taste Baz.

“Yeah,” Baz said hoarsely. His eyes drifted up past Simon to the sky. “It’s going to be dawn soon.”

“Oh, shit! Do you need to be out of the sun…or…” Simon trailed off as he realized what an idiot he’d been. That time in the pub, it had been later than this and Baz had been out; clearly sun wasn’t a problem for him.

“We should probably head back. Wagons should already be starting to move along the road if they’re aiming for the opening of the town gates.”

Simon wanted to think that Baz’s use of ‘we’ was a sign; they’d been through so much together, and Baz was recognizing that they had something—at least enough to continue working together. But as Baz sat up, his hand wiping away the remains of Simon’s blood from his chin, Simon knew that this was Baz putting an end to that. They’d get back to the road, and then they’d go back to being…whatever it was they were before.

It shouldn’t have bothered Simon—he should have expected nothing less—but as he joined Baz in getting up and starting to walk across the field, Simon felt dull lead settle in his stomach.

  
  



	19. Chapter 19

The trip back through the woods and up to the road was mercifully uneventful. When Simon had tried to ask Baz how he knew where they needed to go, Baz had just brushed him off; he couldn’t bring himself to tell Simon that it was by smell. Even hours after Simon had come through the woods—crashed through, if the broken branches and snapped twigs were anything to go by—the smell of ash and smoke still lingered.

They walked in silence, which Baz was grateful for. His traitorous body was still humming with Simon’s blood and the orgasm wrung from him, and his thoughts felt dull. Even with the blood and the magic Simon had given him, Baz still felt…hollow.

_ You just need a night’s sleep in a bed. _

He just needed to focus on getting back to Fiona’s and he’d be fine.

And if he couldn’t stop thinking about the feel of Simon’s cock in his hand, or the slide of Simon’s tongue, it was just because he hadn’t taken his suppressors in a day. It was just simple biology that made him want to push Simon down and ride him until the hollow feeling was gone, and nothing to do with actually liking Simon himself.

As they waited along the road in the half light of dawn watching for a wagon, Baz glanced over at Simon. The first rays of the sun had started to emerge, gilding his curls. He looked impossibly golden, like the heroes in those shitty serialized novels that the other students sometimes smuggled into the monastery. Simon was the handsome alpha who swept in to save the day and slay the dragons. So what did that make Baz?

He would rather die than be some omega damsel in distress, so did that make him the arch-nemesis? Two or three days ago, he would have accepted it wholeheartedly, but now…

Now, Baz wanted to go back to the feel of Simon’s arm wrapped around him. He wanted to go back to hot skin against his, finally feeling the chill that always surrounded him soften.

“Snow,” Baz started to say, trying to pull his thoughts into something that made sense.

Before he had the chance to continue he was cut off by the sound of hooves and the groan of a wagon.

“Think you can handle being with me long enough for us to share the same ride back?” Simon asked, a smile on his face that didn’t reach up to his eyes.

All of the things Baz had thought about saying died right there. He swallowed, his throat feeling thick, and nodded.

“I suppose I can stomach that much.”

The wagon slowed to a stop, the driver calling down to them, and in a couple of minutes the two had climbed up into the back to sit amongst the bags of carrots and corn. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but with Simon’s warm body pressed up along his side and sunlight starting to stream down, it was oddly soothing.

Within five minutes Simon had drifted off to sleep, his head lolling against Baz’s shoulder, those curls brushing against his neck every time the wagon jostled. If Baz wasn’t careful, he’d be asleep soon as well.

He didn’t miss the looks the merchant occasionally threw them—at their clothes, their closeness, their smell. He’d never been more aware of the fact that he wasn’t wearing any blockers—neither was Simon for that matter—and they must’ve reeked of each other. His clothes were covered in dirt, and there were some places where the fabric had gone stiff that didn’t bear thinking about. Simon was in a worse state, blood staining the leg of his trousers and the collar of his shirt. There were also small bruises that littered the side of Simon’s neck; Baz suspected that there would be similar ones across his own body. There was no missing what they had done.

There was also no missing that he was an omega. His secret could come out right here. Of course, it was doubtful that the merchant even knew who Baz was—he’d spent so much time away that few people would recognize him on sight. He was probably just some anonymous omega.

But what if he wasn’t? The whole journey back, Baz kept turning that question over and over, trying to work his way down to the very core of his feelings.  _ Would it be so bad? _

Dawn had given way to the blinding light of morning when the wagon rolled to a stop at the main square. Baz got out right away, careful not to wake Simon. If he had to say a proper goodbye, he suspected that he would do something weak-willed.

Outside of the town, Baz had been given a reprieve from his role, but now that they were back in Watford, it was time for him to remember who he was. Far better to make a clean break of it.

He handed the merchant a couple of coins for his trouble, and then with a glance at the still sleeping Simon, he added a couple more.

_ It’s just because he lost his bag. And because he helped me out. Returning the favour. Debt paid.  _ But it certainly didn’t feel that way. It felt as though he and Simon had become hopelessly entangled.

_ That’s why you need to cut him out. _

During the walk through the woods, Baz had ended up with the cloak wrapped around him once again. He plucked at the plain wool, and again looked at Simon. If he had any sense, he’d take it off, dump it into Simon’s lap, and then he’d get out of there, but Baz couldn’t bring himself to do that.

Instead, he pulled it tighter, tugging it up over his neck so that it was just below his chin. He could smell the richness of Simon practically woven into the cloth, and mingling with it was his own lighter scent. The combination shouldn’t have worked, but it did funny things to Baz’s insides.

Quickly, he nodded a final goodbye to the merchant and struck out across the town. He kept the cloak pulled close. It was early enough that the only people bustling around the square were those who had to set up their wares, and once he was out into the streets, the hum died down to nothing. Even once he’d reached the dockside area, nearing Fiona’s place, there were only a few people staggering home or heading off to work. Baz was going to manage this whole trip without being found out.

But he couldn’t relax until he’d climbed up the stairs to Fiona’s flat and let himself in the door. He paused for a moment as he slipped inside, holding his breath as he shut the door. There was no sound of movement—a good sign—but he also couldn’t hear any sounds of deep breathing from Fiona’s room—a bad sign.

Baz tugged off his boots, keeping a wary eye on the hall beyond. Then, with the cloak still on, he padded towards his room.

As he passed the doorway to the sitting room, he caught the brief scent of enraged alpha.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Fiona called through the door, her voice icy and anger dripping from each word.

Baz wondered if it was still possible for him to sneak back out. He could just walk away and…what? When it came down to it, he was a Grimm and a Pitch, and neither side allowed people to just flee from problems. They were supposed to greet them with their teeth bared and tear them apart.

Pulling his shoulders back and his chin up, he opened the door to the sitting room and strode in. Fiona was sitting in her chair, a glass on the table beside her, but she didn’t look drunk. If anything, she looked far too sharp. As her gaze raked over Baz, he was certain she saw every detail of his disheveled state.

“If you tell me that you fucked off for a whole day without even leaving me a bloody note just for some tumble with an alpha, I’ll disown you right here,” Fiona finally said.

Baz’s face went warm and he could feel something akin to shame flooding through him, though it was quickly burnt away by his own rising anger. Fiona had no idea what had happened to him, and he wasn’t going to feel guilty for what he’d done; he was tired of feeling guilt at being born an omega.

“You’re neither my mother nor my father, and how my time is spent has nothing to do with you,” Baz said, his tone an exact match for Fiona’s.

He was surprised to see her blanch, but then her mouth tightened.

“So that’s a yes?”

“It’s a why do you even bloody care?” Baz hated how petulant he sounded, and he hated that it was Fiona who was pushing him. If it had been his father, he could’ve felt that it was just another in a series of disappointments, but Fiona was supposed to be different.

She reached for her glass and downed the contents in one go, her mouth twisting into a grimace and her eyes starting to water.

“You know that drinks don’t have to taste like that? You’re allowed to buy stuff that actually tastes good,” Baz said, unable to hold back a swell of concern. For all her problems, Fiona was all he had left of his mother, and she was the only one who gave him any freedom. He just wished that her disappointment didn’t hurt so much.

Fiona’s expression softened and she rose up from her seat. In a couple of steps she was standing in front of him, looking up into his face. She reached out and rested her palm against his cheek.

“You need to be careful. I don’t give a shit about what it means to the family, or to your father, but if people find out you’re an omega it  _ will _ change your life. Have you actually thought about what that means? I want you to make sure that your future will be safe. It’s what Natasha would’ve wanted,” she said, her voice uncharacteristically soft.

Baz had to look away, no longer able to meet her gaze.

“I’m fine. My future is fine.”

“But you were with  _ him _ , weren’t you? That alpha who’s been working for the Mage. Don’t you see the danger?”

Her grip tightened, her fingers digging into his skin.

“How do you know where I was or who I was with?”

Fiona’s breath came out in rough bursts and she finally let go, stepping back.

“I can smell him on you, Baz. You smell like…” She wrinkled her nose, and then her eyes went wide and her face grew pale. “Baz, you smell like heat. Heat and blood. What happened to you?”

This was the last conversation Baz wanted to have with his aunt. How did he explain what had happened to him without fully understanding it himself?

He started to pull off the cloak, before he draped it over his arm and fussed with the lines until it was a neat bundle. Anything but looking at Fi.

“Just…just tell me that it wasn’t…tell me that you weren’t forced,” she whispered.

Emotion welled up at the back of Baz’s throat, but he kept his face blank.

“It was…there was no force involved. If anything, I think that…” Baz paused, trying to find the right words. “He looked after me. Things were going to get bad, and he gave me what I needed.”

Red was rising up into Fiona’s face, but she just nodded.

“Okay. Right.”

Baz nodded sharply and walked out of the room. In the safety of his own bedroom, he let out the ragged breath he’d been holding in.

The cloak was quickly tossed onto his bed before he started to tug off his stained clothes. As he shed them, he left them in a pile on the floor by his feet. He glanced over towards the wash basin.

Grime covered every inch of him, and he could feel the dried remains of cum and slick starting to flake off his skin. It wasn’t just a matter of feeling filthy; Baz  _ was _ filthy. He needed a bath, a whole cake of soap, and possible a fire for his clothes, but he still didn’t move towards the ewer for even the most cursory wipe down.

If he washed now, Simon’s scent would be washed away as well. His skin still smelled of the alpha, and Baz wasn’t ready to relinquish that.

As he lay down and pulled the cloak close to his face, breathing in deep, he told himself that he would wash when he woke up. This afternoon, he would draw a line under everything related to Simon Snow, and he would finally cut himself off. But for now, he would indulge himself a little.

***

When Baz woke up, late sun streamed in through his window and the first thing he noticed was the comforting smell of smoke twining through the notes of lanolin. Homespun wool rasped against his bare chest, and his fingers gripped the folds of the cloak tightly.

He blinked, pushed himself up, and grimaced down at his body. He was still disgusting, and still feeling oddly sentimental about it. But this time, he pushed himself out of bed and went straight to the washstand.

With brisk motions, he scrubbed himself as best he could until all he could smell was whatever flowers were in the soap Fiona bought. That was quickly followed by applying his blocking lotion and taking a double dose of his suppressors. After he was dressed and had stripped his now filthy sheets to replace them with a clean set, Baz left the room.

The few hours of sleep hadn’t been quite enough, not after everything that had happened, but he felt better than he had that morning. And he had things to do. Between the exhaustion, and Simon, and Fiona’s accusations, Baz had somehow managed to forget what was important. With what he and Simon had seen down in the tunnels of the Order’s former workshop, he had a lot of questions that needed answering. And the first port of call would be Fiona. The question was whether he asked her, or just tried to search through some of the things she kept in the house.

Despite her best attempts to keep it all hidden, Baz had long been aware that Fiona had squirrelled away a number of his mother’s things. Most of it was just trinkets—charms from when they were younger that had long since lost their magic, a book or two that had been inscribed—but he  _ knew _ there had to be more there. Fiona had to know something; if not, why had she even sent him to his father’s house to retrieve the papers in the first place?

He could hear her puttering around in the kitchen. He froze, trying to decide what to do, but finally he decided that he owed it to Fiona to confront her head on. She’d  _ always _ been upfront with him, and she deserved nothing less. At least for now.

The kitchen was as dingy as the rest of the flat, though it had the appearance of being cleaner since neither of them could be bothered to cook; Baz wasn’t even sure Fiona knew  _ how  _ to cook. There was a small sink and water pump—a luxury of magic and engineering that was at odds with the building—as well as a squat iron stove and a serviceable table. The counters were bare, and on the shelves of the open cupboards there was just a collection of mismatched mugs and glasses—the good glasses that were in heavy use were kept out in the sitting room—a couple of tins of tea, and a suspicious jar of something that had been pickled.

“This is novel. Did you get lost?” Baz said, leaning against the door jamb.

Fiona turned to look over her shoulder and smiled at him.

“Don’t be a shit.”

She turned back to her task, filling a small copper kettle from the pump before setting it on top of the stove. She filled the teapot with a few scoops of tea and put a cup down beside it before she looked at him again, an eyebrow raised.

“You want some?” she asked, waving between the kettle and the teapot.

“Sure.” He was pretty sure that even Fiona couldn’t mess this up.

He walked in and sat down. On a small plate, he was shocked to see half a loaf of bread, some slices of meat, a wedge of cheddar, and a sliced apple.

“What’s this?”

Fiona didn’t even look over, just kept her attention fixed on the kettle and shrugged.

“What’s it look like?”

“And here I thought you didn’t know that food could be eaten outside of a pub or a restaurant,” Baz drawled, settling back into his chair.

He snagged one of the pieces of apple and took a bite. It was a little on the mealy side, but with the burst of sweetness across his tongue he realized how hungry he was. The last time he’d eaten had been the day before. Blood might have been necessary for him, but he wasn’t vampire enough to be able to go without food.

Steam rolled out of the top of the kettle and Fiona poured it out into the teapot, then brought everything over to the table. With a thump and a glare she set them down and then took a seat. She pushed the plate closer to Baz.

“And here I thought my nephew might actually be grateful that I’d gone to the trouble of bringing him back something.” She leaned back in her chair, her arms crossing over her chest as her dark eyes scanned over him. “You’re looking too pale.”

“I’m always pale.”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be cute, you know what I mean. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine. Really. I just had a long day.” His joints still felt achy and his muscles a little sore from all that he and Simon had done, but he was hardly going to tell her that.

Fiona pushed the plate closer to him again and gave him a scolding look. Baz started to eat, ripping off a piece of the bread and piling it up with meat and cheese.

“Where did you go yesterday?” Fiona finally asked once Baz had eaten a bit.

Baz chewed the rest of the food in his hand, swallowing quickly, and tried to figure out the exact path he needed to take with his aunt.

“I went out to mum’s old workshop. The one in the countryside that got abandoned thirty years ago,” he said, watching her face intently.

“What? How did you find out about that place?” Fiona’s expression was guarded and her eyes wary.

“I found some journals at her Watford workshop; ones that the Mage had sent someone to try to steal.”

“You mean the ones that the Mage sent that  _ alpha _ to try to steal—your alpha,” she snapped.

“He’s not my alpha.”

“I should certainly hope not.” Her teeth flashed as she spoke, and her eyes burned with hatred for the Mage. Baz didn’t blame her—he understood the threat the Mage posed to their way of life—but he needed her to stay focussed. If she started to talk about her grievances with the Mage he’d never get the conversation back on track.

“Fi, please. I’ll help you with anything you want later, any of those plots you’ve been churning over to take down the Mage, but for now can you just tell me about my mother?”

Fiona picked up one of the apple slices, turning it over in her hand like she was examining some great charm before she popped it into her mouth. But Baz could wait. When she’d finally swallowed her bite, he raised an eyebrow and said, “Well?”

She heaved a sigh.

“Why do you have to be so determined? I thought omegas were supposed to be quiet and biddable. How did you end up like this?”

“Maybe because I’ve never been allowed to live as an omega. Now, my mother?”

“I don’t know anything. The workshop was before my time—I was far too young to be allowed to leave Watford, never mind to be trusted with research. I just know that Natasha was out there for a while until she wasn’t. She didn’t ever talk to me about what she did out there, and I never thought to ask. I had my own life.” Each of her words was said so carefully that Baz knew Fiona was skating the edge between saying the absolute truth while still holding back anything useful.

“And my dad? Would he know?” Baz persisted.

Fiona’s shrug was exaggerated.

“Who knows? You could ask him, but I doubt he’d know much more than me.”

“But they’d have been together at the time.”

Again Fiona shrugged, this time throwing her hands up in front of her.

“Who knows what goes on between married couples? I just know that Natasha didn’t like to talk about what she was doing outside of the workshop, and your father has zero interest in academic concerns.”

Baz could feel frustration building up and pulsing through him.

“Do you at least know who else was working there?”

Pushing her chair back, Fiona rose up from the table. She stared down at him, her eyes flinty, before she finally said, “I don’t know what you want to hear from me Baz, but I don’t know anything about that part of your mother’s life. All I can tell you is that she wanted to leave it all behind. When she returned, she was careful to keep all of her notes from that time under lock and key. She would be horrified to know that you were digging into it.”

“Because I’m an omega?” Baz whispered, the words hurting in a way he thought he’d grown past.

Fiona shook her head.

“Of course not.”

Baz didn’t have the courage to ask if it was because he was a vampire.

The small clock from the sitting room struck the hour and Fiona’s head jerked towards the sound.

“I have somewhere I have to be,” she said. With a swirl of skirts, she left the kitchen. Baz heard her walk along the hallway and out the front door, her pot of tea completely forgotten.

Baz gave her a three minute start before he shoved on his boots and went out after her. By the time he was out in the street, they were bustling with trade, but he was still able to catch sight of her in the distance. It was hard to miss Fiona. She walked with such purpose that people had a way of bending around her.

He followed her to the edges of her neighbourhood, and through another, until she had passed into the wide streets and large houses that Baz recognized as his father’s part of town. With each step she took, Baz could feel dread piling up like heavy beads in his stomach.

Finally, Fiona reached the gated entrance to his father’s home. She waved and muttered something too low for him to catch, and then the gate swung open. Fiona quickly walked in and the gate closed after her.

Baz watched her through the bars as she walked up to the house and disappeared through the front door. He felt sick.

There was only one reason Fiona would come here, and that was to talk to his father about him. The only point of commonality that Fiona and Malcolm had managed to keep since Natasha’s death was Baz. It meant that his father was going to find out he was back in Watford. As soon as that happened, Baz would be sent back to school.

All of his questions would remain unanswered, and his father would make sure that any chance of escaping from school again would vanish.

Turning on his heel, Baz tried to figure out what to do. There was no way he could go back to Fiona’s, but he didn’t exactly have many other options. He had a few coins in his pocket, but they wouldn’t last long if he had to find somewhere to stay. And then there was the matter of being an omega. His blockers were good enough that people wouldn’t be able to tell right now, but the bottle of lotion was back in his room and without another application in a few hours, his scent would start to slip through.

Baz needed to find somewhere he could stay where he wouldn’t have to worry about his gender being discovered, which left exactly one person in all of Watford. Except Baz didn’t even know where Simon lived.

_ Bunce. _

It would be easy enough for him to go find Penelope Bunce and ask her for Simon’s address. He just had to hope that his blockers were good enough to fool the clever beta.

  
  



	20. Chapter 20

Penny had lost track of the number of times she’d drifted away from her desk towards the window to search for any sign of Simon. With the clock striking four, she hated to think what his absence might mean.

_ It’s fine. We didn’t have a scale for the maps; it probably just took longer for Simon to get through the woods and back than we expected _ .

She twisted her ring round and round and tried to ignore the feeling in her gut.

Even if the hike took longer, Simon should’ve been back hours ago. If he’d found anything of use, he’d have brought it straight to her. And if there was nothing at all, he would’ve still come here to try and figure out a new plan. Penny couldn’t help but think of how Simon had looked over the past week.

Exhaustion had been written all over him, and even as a beta she’d been able to smell the alpha hormones that had been pouring off of him.

_ What if something happened? _

She knew she shouldn’t have agreed to let him go on his own. A dozen different scenarios, each worse than the last, flashed before her eyes; they ranged from Simon breaking a leg to goblins finding him while he was alone and unarmed.

With a final scour of the street, still seeing nothing, she walked back to her desk and sat down. She glared at the pages of notes spread out before her, fingers still working the ring in circles.

_ If he hasn’t come to me in an hour then I’ll go find him _ .

It wasn’t much of a plan, but at least it was a start. She shoved aside her pages of smokescreen notes—some data she was gathering for her father on the flow of rivers—and grabbed a fresh sheet of paper.

She quickly scratched out all of the places in Watford she would check first, and all of the people who might have seen Simon. There weren’t many places beyond Simon’s room, the few pubs that they used to conduct business, and Ebb’s shop.

_ At least it will be quick to check them all. _

Her eyes strayed to her notebook, tucked under a couple of loose pages and a book on the magical properties of bodies of water. While Simon had been away, she’d hoped to come up with some new information, something that might be crucial to interpret whatever Simon’s hunt turned up, but she’d had little luck. Despite going through all of the reference books that her parents kept out in the main library, Penny hadn’t been able to learn anything about the symbol. Her only options were to see if she could find the books her parents thought they’d hidden in some of the back rooms, or to ask them outright.

Penny was certain that one of her parents had to recognize the symbol, but she needed that to be a last resort. There was no way she could explain how she’d seen the symbol without them connecting it back to Simon.

With a groan, she stretched backwards in her chair, trying to ease the aches that had crept into her spine. Leaning forward again, she tried to resume her work, but she could feel the window behind her drawing her focus like a magnet.

_ Where is Simon? _

Maybe one more look wouldn’t hurt?

The creak of the door echoed from the other room, quickly followed by the footsteps of someone walking in. Penny’s heart leapt in her chest and she shoved herself away from the table, her chair scraping back.

She raced to the doorway, but her words of greeting died on her tongue. Instead of Simon, she was faced with the imposing figure of someone she hadn’t seen in a long time: Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch.

In the years since she’d last seen him, he’d grown into his features. As a child, she remembered he was weirdly intense, but now with his imposing height he looked…stately. The intensity gave him a gravitas that commanded weight. It was, Penny thought, decidedly unfair. Just another way that Baz Pitch was able to hold power over mere mortals.

“What do you want?” she demanded.

Baz’s eyes narrowed and he peered down his nose at her. Penny hated the way he made her feel like something to be examined, and in her parents’ own workshop no less.

“Hello, Bunce,” Baz drawled, though as Penny got over the shock of seeing him, she wondered if there wasn’t a fidgetiness about him. “Nice to see you as well.”

Penny pressed her hands against her hips and reared up to her full height. It wasn’t much compared to Baz, but every inch counted.

“I know that you’ve been having some run-ins with Simon. What do you want?” She channeled her mother into her voice, and was proud of how she sounded—rather stern actually.

Baz folded his arms over his chest and eyed her suspiciously, his gaze darting around the room.

“He’s not here is he?”

“Simon? No.”

“Oh,” Baz said, looking almost disappointed, before he added, “It reeks of him here.”

“His magic? Yeah, my parents have moved past despair and just accepted it. It takes weeks for Simon’s magic to fade from a spot, and even longer if he’s trying to do much casting. They’ve learned to work around it.”

Baz’s lips moved as if he was about to speak, but he stopped himself with an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

“Where do I find Snow?” he finally asked.

“What?!”

“Where. Do. I. Find. Snow?”

Penny blinked and shook her head.

“Do you really think I’m going to tell you that? Simon told me about your run-ins—he tells me everything. I’m hardly going to just lead you to him,” she said, trying to match the condescension in her tone to his.

Baz actually blanched at her words, his spine going straighter and his face tightening around the eyes.

“What exactly did he tell you?” His voice was soft, but there was a fierce urgency to the words.

“That you fought. That  _ you _ were trying to steal whatever it was that Simon was sent to retrieve.”

“What Simon was sent to  _ steal.” _

“Whatever.”

“Did Simon…has Simon talked to you since he returned?”

This time it was Penny who was pulled up short. How did Baz know that Simon had left Watford?

As if in answer to her question, he said, “We ran into each other outside of town.”

A moment later, Baz added with a sigh, “Don’t give me that look, Bunce. I haven’t murdered Snow if that’s what you’re thinking. I left him in the square this morning.”

Penny reeled at Baz’s words, and at the undercurrent of emotion she could feel in them. She couldn’t pinpoint what was there, but she knew that it was more than his bored tone and imperious expression would suggest.

And something else about him was bothering her. As they stood there, she couldn’t escape the feeling that there was something she should be noticing—something important. Scanning him from head to toe was no help. He looked exactly like she’d expect; even dressed simply, it was in a way that whispered of money and breeding, his clothes fitting impeccably and the quality of the fabric apparent at a distance, but nothing odd about it.

It was only when she started to pay attention to the flow of magic in the room that she realized what she’d sensed.

“Why do you have Simon’s magic?” she said, the words pouring out in a rush.

A delicate pink flared in Baz’s cheeks and Penny felt unsettled by it. The blush almost made Baz look…cute, and she didn’t want to think about what the reaction might mean. When she let her gaze slide sideways so that she could view the streams of magic, she saw Simon’s silvery sparks dotted through Baz’s red. It was something no serious magic practitioner would ever do, rare even among bonded pairs.

Everything went still at that last thought.

_ No way. Not possible. For a start, Baz would have to be an omega. And there’s no way Simon would’ve bonded with  _ him.

Except…

“What happened to the two of you? While you were out there?” Penny’s voice was deadly quiet as her eyes dragged over every inch of Baz, looking for some clue that he was an omega.

Depending on who you talked to, Baz Pitch was either a beta or an alpha. Stories were passed around about his arrogance and sheer power, signs that he was clearly an alpha, and whispered right back were tales about his control and coldness—supposedly signs of a beta. But looking at him, Penny couldn’t be sure. She couldn’t pick up any scent beyond the citrus and cedar of a high-end blocker. His blockers and suppressants could be good enough that they could mask almost any gender—particularly to her beta nose that wasn’t developed for scenting an alpha or omega mate.

“I just need to find Snow. I think that he might find it advantageous for us to work together for a little while,” Baz said.

“Uh huh. And why is that?”

For the first time since he’d arrived, Penny saw a flare of frustration across his face, his hands balling into fists.

“If Snow hasn’t seen fit to tell you about what we found out, then I certainly won’t. I just thought that you might be able to take me to him. But if not…” He turned on his heel and was quickly at the door, pulling it open.

“Wait,” Penny yelled, before furtively glancing over her shoulder towards the rooms in the back. She did  _ not _ need either of her parents coming out right now, and certainly not her mother.

Baz paused and gave her a knowing look. She was half-tempted to let him leave just so that expression would be wiped away. But this was about Simon, so she ground her teeth together and tried to make her expression as pleasant as possible.

“I’ll take you to him,” she said, “But if you try  _ anything _ , just know that all of my considerable creativity for spellwork is going to be directed towards finding ways to ruin you.”

With that, she grabbed her notebook from the table and joined him at the door. She pushed him out of the way and then sailed out, leaving him to chase after her. As she walked, Penny hoped that she had made the right decision.

  
  



	21. Chapter 21

Simon dreamed of the smell of omega.

Since his return to Watford that morning, he’d been haunted by the scent of burnt sugar, of bergamot and cedar, but it had grown more vivid. Where before it had been a taunting suggestion—a scent he was chasing, but could never quite get his fill of—now it overwhelmed him. He could feel it thick on his tongue and filling his head, his body stirring from the sweetness.

But it was still a little too faint. This was the scent of drawing room omegas, with their scent scrubbed away and blockers spread across their skin. It was prim and proper, and just enough to tease Simon with what he wanted.

“Snow,” Baz’s icy voice echoed through his dreams.

Except that didn’t seem right. If Simon was going to dream of Baz, then he wanted to dream of Baz wrecked and needy, his ass and thighs coated with slick, breaking apart in Simon’s arms. He wanted to dream of the Baz who had been warm and close.

“SNOW!” Baz’s voice was more insistent and Simon felt a cool hand press against his bare shoulder.

His eyes snapped open to find a pair of grey eyes staring down at him. They were wide with surprise, but quickly narrowed into a glare.

“About bloody time, Snow,” Baz said as he stepped back, pulling his hand away.

“Simon, are you okay?”

It took Simon a moment to realize that the second voice was Penny’s, and he looked between the two of them in confusion as he pushed himself up to a sitting position.

He shook his head, trying to throw off the last of his dreams and the lingering arousal, and took a deep breath. He pointed towards the pitcher of water by the wash basin, and Penny poured him out a glass. Simon gulped it down, finishing with a gasp.

“You alright there?” Penny asked.

Simon nodded and managed a smile for her.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice still raspy from sleep. “What are you doing here?”

He looked over to where Baz stood. The moment Simon had woken up, Baz had drifted back towards the door like he might bolt at any moment. The sight of him in Simon’s room was enough for Simon to feel pleased, albeit more than a little confused, but as Baz kept edging towards the door a primal panic rose up. His omega was here—had come to him—and now he was going to leave.

It was only because Penny was still in the room and Simon had stripped down to nothing before he’d gone to bed that he was able to stay put. If it had been just him and Baz, he would’ve been up and across the room, dragging his omega to the bed to see what he could do to replace the smell of blockers with omega sweetness. And that scared Simon.

He needed control in his life. And Baz had made it clear that he didn’t want or need an alpha, hadn’t he? 

_ But he’s here. He found me. _

Penny shot looks between the two of them, not bothering to hide her fascination and concern.

“Baz demanded I bring him to see you,” Penny said after a long moment of silence.

“Demand is a bit much,” Baz muttered.

She just rolled her eyes at him and turned her whole attention onto Simon. Her expression became somber and a little severe. It reminded him of looks he’d seen on her mother’s face.

“Why didn’t you come find me once you got back?” Penny said softly. “I’ve been worried all day.”

Simon’s stomach clenched and hot prickles spread out across his shoulders. He groaned and pressed his face against his raised knees.

“Sorry,” he said, hoping she could hear how sincerely he meant it. “I got back so early this morning and…things were a little…” Simon wasn’t sure how to sum up what had happened at the workshop—he wasn’t even sure what he could tell her. He looked at Baz, hoping that he might say something, but the omega’s face was impassive, his stormy eyes watching Simon carefully.

“It got a little intense. By the time I got back, I just needed some sleep,” he finally said. When his stomach proceeded to growl, he gave her a sheepish grin and added, “And eat. I should probably do that.”

Penny smiled a little at the last bit, but she didn’t look any less concerned.

“Did you find something?” she said, her gaze darting to Baz.

“It’s fine,” Simon said, “he knows what I was there for. We had to team up for a bit. Look, I haven’t eaten since…yesterday? What time is it now? Is it still today? Can I get dressed and we can go talk while I eat?”

Simon caught the flash of surprise on her face before she nodded and turned towards Baz. She flicked her fingers at him and jerked her chin towards the door.

“C’mon, you heard him. Get out.” 

“There’s something I need to talk about with Snow first.” 

Simon knew that there was nothing in Baz’s words for him to get excited about, but all he could think about was him and Baz in his room. Alone. He fisted his hands into his sheets and tried to focus on pulling his attention away from his building arousal.

Penny, of course, crossed her arms across her chest and set her mouth in a mulish line. Despite their difference in height, she managed to find a way to peer over the rim of her glasses.

“Okay then, go for it,” she said.

“Alone.”

“There’s nothing that you can say to Simon that—”

“Penny,” Simon said as placatingly as he could, “would you mind? We’ll meet you downstairs.”

The expression on her face was enough to make his chest ache. He could tell that Penny was hurt, but he wasn’t sure what else to do.

Her chin rose up, and while her eyes were a little glassy, she managed a smile for him.

“Sure. Of course. I’ll get the usual.”

She walked out of the room, frowning at Baz on her way out. And then it was just the two of them. Baz and Simon. Alone. And Simon still wasn’t wearing any clothes.

There was a drift of sugar and cedar that filled the room as Baz clearly just realized the situation. His blockers may’ve been good—good enough that a beta could’ve missed the smell—but it was enough for Simon’s blood to heat.

Baz swayed a little, his nostrils flaring, and Simon watched his tongue dart out to moisten his lips before he straightened his spine and glared at Simon.

“Snow, could you put on a blocking lotion? Not everyone wants to be breathing in alpha.” If it wasn’t for the hoarse quality to Baz’s voice, Simon might’ve believed him. He pointed towards the bottle on the table.

“Pass it over.”

“Or how about you just get up and get it yourself?”

Simon felt the predatory smile on his face as he reached for the blanket and sheet pooled around his waist. He threw them back and then rose up, taking the time to stretch out his limbs.

Fire followed everywhere Baz’s gaze swept, gooseflesh rising up, and a hum started to fill his body. When that gaze turned towards his cock, still half-hard from the dreams of Baz and the smell of omega, a jolt ran through Simon and his cock twitched. Baz’s eyes had gone a charcoal grey, and even after his perusal he didn’t turn away.

They’d entered some game of self-control and Simon had a horrible premonition that he was going to lose. He  _ wanted _ to lose.

“I should get dressed,” he mumbled, his tongue thick. Penny was waiting for them and this had to wait.

As Simon pulled on clothes, Baz started to poke at the small collection of books piled up on the table. Finally, after leafing through a few, his attention returned to Simon.

“I didn’t take you for a reader—certainly not anything without pictures.” A maddening smirk fluttered around Baz’s lips and Simon wanted to kiss it off.

“They’re Penny’s,” Simon said, fastening his trousers and moving on to his shirt.

Again Baz turned back to the books, though not before his gaze lingered on Simon’s chest.

“What have you told Bunce about me?”

The question was asked with such a deadly quiet that Simon didn’t even think to do anything but answer right away.

“I told her that you stole what I’d been sent for—twice. And I told her who you were. It was only because of her that I found out your name.”

“But you didn’t mention that I’m…” Baz went quiet, and his face became pained.

“A vampire?” 

Baz’s eyebrows lowered and he slammed the book in his hand back down on the table.

“An omega. Did you tell Bunce that I’m an omega?” Each word was ground out with enough force to punch through the wall.

As he took a breath, Simon could smell that sour-sweet smell of an upset omega. Without thinking Simon walked across the room to Baz. The omega was practically trembling, and Simon couldn’t help but think of a wet cat—a wet cat that could probably rip out his throat or cast him into a puddle of bone shards and pulp. Gently, trying to keep his motions slow and obvious, Simon reached forward and wrapped his arms around Baz, pulling him close.

The hug felt different than their interactions in the tunnels and outside of the workshop. Everything there had been a little wild and out of body—like it was happening in another world. But this…this felt real. It felt like it was for keeps. No taking back what he was doing.

Baz was stiff in his arms for a moment—for the space of a terrifying heartbeat, Simon thought Baz was going to push him away—and then he melted against Simon. His forehead dropped to Simon’s shoulder, followed by a ragged sigh, and then Simon could feel Baz’s nose pressing against his neck.

Simon stroked a hand along the broad plane of Baz’s back, trying to ignore the mess of emotions swelling up inside him, how completely unprepared he was for this complicated omega, until finally Baz’s scent changed back to the usual burnt sugar.

“I didn’t tell her,” he whispered against Baz’s hair.

There was no sign of acknowledgement, so Simon just kept talking.

“I felt terrible keeping information back from Penny—and I probably should’ve told her—but…I just couldn’t. It’s like…I don’t know…I reckon that it’s not my business to tell. You might be a right git, but…” Simon sighed heavily. This was something important he needed to express, but the words kept vanishing before him.

“Alright,” Baz said. Simon could feel the words, feel Baz’s lips as he shaped them against his neck.

“Alright?”

Baz lifted his head and glared at Simon, though the arm that had wrapped itself around Simon’s waist stayed there.

“Don’t read too much into this. I just think that you’re probably crap enough at lying that I would know.”

“Okay.”

They stayed like that for a little while, pressed close, until Simon finally worked up the courage to say, “Baz, why did you come?”

This time Baz took a step backwards, finally pulling himself out of Simon’s hold, before he answered.

“We currently have some shared goals—we both want to find out what the Mage wants with my mother’s research. I think it would be expeditious for us to work together. For now.”

“Work together?”

“Just until we see this through, and then we can go our separate ways.” Baz sounded a lot more certain than Simon felt, but Simon nodded.

“Okay.”

***

By the time they got down to the dining room, Penny had drunk half a pot of tea by herself and the plate of scones was cold. Simon slid into his seat, smiled apologetically at her and tried not to look too sad over the scones.

Cold scones would be his penance for making her wait while he and Baz…

_ While Baz and I what? _ Simon didn’t even know what had happened, just that he was already irrationally upset at the idea of never seeing Baz again once all of this was over.

_ Just the alpha _ , he thought as he poured out his tea.  _ An instinct. _

Penny gave Simon a long, hard stare before she rolled her eyes and stretched her hand over his plate, starting to whisper something softly. Within seconds he felt heat coming off the scones.

With a quick thanks, he slathered them in butter and started to eat. They weren’t cherry today, but they were cranberry, and the fruit was tart enough to be almost as good.

Penny waited until Simon had inhaled half his plate, though he could tell that the restraint just about killed her; she practically vibrated with curiosity, peering over the rim of her tea cup to give them searching looks. But finally the dam broke, and she gave up any pretence of drinking her tea.

“Alright, Simon, time’s up. Tell me everything.”

Baz leaned back in his chair and gave her an amused expression—a  _ condescending _ amused expression. As he shifted in the chair, drawing one arm to rest along the back, his fingers brushed against Simon’s sleeve. Simon glared down at his arm, wondering how such a nothing touch could make him so aware of Baz. Why did Baz have to sit beside him?

“Really, Bunce? I would’ve thought you might have a little more decorum, but I guess considering your parents…” Baz said, and Penny’s face turned bright red.

Simon was starting to realize that while there was something about Baz that drew him in—that he needed—he wasn’t sure he actually  _ liked _ Baz. Except that wasn’t quite right. Baz was clearly a pompous arse who wielded words as well as he did spells, but there had been moments in the tunnels where Simon had seen something more. Hadn’t he?

Penny turned in her chair so that she was angled towards Simon only.

“ _ Simon _ ,” she said drawing out his name, “What did you find at the workshop?”

The rest of the conversation continued in much the same way. Simon told Penny all that he could remember about what they’d found—the tunnels, the altar, the beast—and edited out the heat cycle. Occasionally Baz would chip in with a cutting remark or two, or to clarify some point, but he stayed largely silent. When Simon started to describe the lettering in Abyssal, Penny dropped the spoon she’d been using to stir sugar into her tea and made a small distressed noise.

“What?” she hissed, darting a quick look around the mostly empty dining room before leaning in. “That’s bad. That’s really bad.”

“Yes, I think that was already established,” Baz said.

Penny stopped tugging at her ring to glare at Baz.

“Beyond the obvious, thanks. The only use for Abyssal is in summoning practices.”

Her words hung between the three of them, their weight sinking through Simon’s skin. He thought of that altar—he wasn’t sure if it made anything better to know what it was for. Except one thing wasn’t tracking…

“Can demons be used to increase someone’s power?”

Both Penny and Baz looked grim at his question, but finally it was Baz who nodded.

“There were a couple of books at school on demons. Most of it was hearsay, but the general gist was that demons can do whatever they want. The trick is how to get the demon to help you.”

“A trick like offering up children?” Simon said quietly, his stomach queasy.

“Maybe.”

Again they settled into silence, though Simon got the feeling that the other two were working through all the pieces at rapid fire rates, building theories and connections. Simon just felt an incredible sadness washing through him until his bones ached with it.

“So who took up the research?” Baz said, breaking the quiet.

“Took up the research?” Penny said. “Why do you think that she wasn’t a part of it all? The Mage was going after her notebooks after all.”

Magic started to roll off both Penny and Baz, the crackle of it making Simon’s teeth ache and his hair stand on end. Their scents also started to rise, Penny’s the light beta smell that reminded Simon of parchment and Baz’s sugary sweet. It was faint enough, and the room empty enough, that no one was likely notice it, but if it continued much longer even Penny wouldn’t be able to miss the fact that Baz was an omega.

“We need to stay calm, alright?” he demanded. Bracing his arms on the table, he gave them each a piercing look. Simon hated to use a lot of his alpha traits, but there were times that the authoritative timbre worked well.

Neither looked happy, but they both eased back.

“We need a plan,” Simon continued, hoping that if he spoke decisively enough it would sound like he knew what the hell to do. “There’s a lot going on, and we…”

Penny picked up just as Simon’s words were faltering.

“We should start with figuring out what questions we have, and how we can go about answering them. Probably somewhere a little more…” she glanced around the room with a frown before adding, “private.”

“Can we go to the workshop?” Simon asked.

“Maybe,” she said, and started to twist her ring again as she thought about it.

Baz shook his head, and when he spoke he actually managed to look nervous.

“I can’t be seen,” he said, his fingers picking at the back of the chair.

“You can’t be seen? Is that a vampire thing?” Penny asked, lifting one eyebrow.

Baz immediately turned and glared at Simon who just shrugged.

“I’m not an idiot,” Penny snarled, pointing a finger across the table at Baz. “I remember you from when we were younger. You’ve grown a hell of a lot paler since then. And I remember when your mum…I didn’t really understand it at the time, but I remember hearing about it. I remember every relative always trying to drape charms over us kids, and…It’s pretty obvious when you think about it.” Her voice had grown softer towards the end, her hand lowering to rest on the table.

With his gaze on his lap, Baz let out a shaky breath and then spoke.

“Fiona went to go see my father. By now he’ll know that I’m back in town, and he’ll be trying to get me back to school. Or back into the home where I won’t be any trouble.”

Simon wasn’t sure whether the trouble Baz was referring to was what Baz could do as a vampire, or the danger if Baz’s secondary gender was revealed.

“Okay, so not the workshop,” Penny said. She started to drum the table, her eyes vacant as she thought. Finally she said, “There’s a storage room out the back of the workshop. None of the windows face that direction and nobody goes there. A little risk, but better than being out somewhere public, or having to use Simon’s room.”

“What’s wrong with my room?”

Penny wrinkled her nose.

“It smells like alpha.”

The three finished up their tea, Simon devouring the remaining scones, and settled their bill. Then it was out into the late afternoon sunshine to head over to the Bunces’ storage shed.

It wasn’t ideal, everything coated in a film of dust until Simon’s mouth was thick with it, but it was surprisingly spacious, and with the odd collection of boxes they were even able to fashion some seats and a table.

Penny pulled out the notebook she was forever carrying, set it down onto the dusty wooden box, and then gave both of them an expectant look.

“First question, I think, is obviously what were the specifics of your mum’s research? Any ideas on how we can figure that out?”

  
  



	22. Chapter 22

It didn’t take more than an hour of working with Bunce and Simon in their makeshift clubhouse before Baz realized that he probably wasn’t cut out for working with partners. Pain pulsed through his temples and just behind his left eye, and his whole body felt as though it was under pressure. And not the desperate pressure that had come with Simon’s touch; this was the type that just made him feel weak and run down. 

He stared down at the page of Bunce’s open notebook where she had scrawled out ‘what did Natasha Pitch research?’ in large letters, and his heart lurched.

 _It’s all Bunce’s fault_ , he thought furiously as he dug his fingers into his temple and tried to massage away the pain. He was fine so long as she kept things barely amicable, but her sympathy had been too much. Baz didn’t want sympathy. He wanted to get some answers and then put his life back together.

Blunt fingers idly brushed across Baz’s shoulders as Simon walked up behind him. He felt the drag of rough skin over the nape of his neck, and despite the pain his body couldn’t help but respond, fireworks sparking in his chest.

He knew it was a terrible idea to work with these two idiots, but Baz couldn’t make himself leave. And he didn’t have any options. There was nowhere else for him to go, and no one else for him to go to.

Bunce had long since unravelled her braid, her dark hair cascading around her face and over her shoulders, and her glasses were hopelessly smudged. She looked worn out. How much of that was just the cost of her friendship with Simon?

Stealing a glance at the alpha, he wondered if she thought it was worth it. Or was she, much like Baz was starting to suspect about himself, stuck with him until the bitter end? He rather suspected that he might be stuck with Simon until one of them destroyed the other. That should’ve worried him, but instead he felt…

Baz shoved aside all of those thoughts and tried to refocus on the page.

“So another obvious question,” Bunce said, “who were the other members of the order? And which of them was responsible for closing out the workshop? The book made it sound like everything was removed.”

She tapped her pen against the edge of the box for a second, the dull sound loud in the quiet space, and then added the question to the page.

Simon sat down, his brow furrowed and arms crossed over his chest as he looked at the page.

“Yeah,” Simon said slowly, drawing out the word. His face brightened and he added, “Do you reckon your mum would know anything? She used to do stuff like this didn’t she?”

Penny’s face twisted into a grimace.

“A long time ago.”

Baz levelled Bunce with the look he usually reserved for his fellow students at the monastery when he had to remind them that they were idiots.

“The workshop wasn’t exactly abandoned a week ago,” he said. 

“I can ask her, but I’d like to know how _you_ are going to help. What are you bringing to the table?” Penny’s tone was pointed as she folded her arms over her chest.

“My mother’s research,” Baz said. “Fiona has letters and notes from my mother stored away somewhere. I’m sure she must know more than she’s saying.”

“Okay, so you just nip on over there and bring it back,” Penny said.

It was Simon who responded.

“He can’t, or not on his own, right?” Those blue eyes swung towards Baz, and he hated how his body felt like it was lighting up under Simon’s gaze.

“It would certainly be easier if someone else did it.”

“Easier for you. Fiona must have spells all over that place that she’s set up to let you walk through. And Simon doesn’t have the skills yet to—”

Baz held up a hand to cut her off. He wasn’t sure why it bothered him, but indignation blazed through him on Simon’s behalf. Bunce may have shown herself to be clever, but Baz had seen Simon in the tunnels. He was able to do far more than Penny wanted to think.

“Penny, it’s okay. Baz can talk me through what’s there, and I’ll be alright. I made it into the Pitch house, didn’t I?” Simon said.

“And got caught.” 

“Only because I had broken in at the same time,” Baz said, surprised to find himself defending Simon.

Penny swallowed back all of the words that she clearly wanted to say and took a shaky breath, then nodded.

“Alright. The two of you go do that. Baz, you can lurk in the shadows, or whatever else you do, while Simon does the breaking in, but he should have someone with him. I’m going to go back to the library and see what I can find about known spells using Abyssal.”

Plans set, the three all snuck out, Penny leaving first and then Simon and Baz after. Day was finally starting to ebb and the heaviness of dusk to settle as the two walked through the streets. People hurried around them, but there was something about the light that felt quietly intimate. It reminded Baz too much of the tunnels for his own peace of mind.

***

Fiona’s place was silent when they arrived. Paused just outside the flat door, Baz tried to push past the noisiness of Simon—Simon’s breathing; Simon’s heartbeat; every fucking movement that Simon made—to listen more closely. It certainly didn’t sound like she was there, but Baz just couldn’t be sure.

“You ready for this?” Simon whispered.

The two were pressed close together in a small alcove off the hallway, Simon in behind Baz. The alpha’s body was a field of heat against his back. With the sound of Simon’s voice so close to his ear, the roughness of it scraping against him like velvet, and the damp heat of Simon’s breath on his neck, Baz’s traitorous body was already starting to take notice.

Simon was, of course, oblivious. Or maybe this was inexplicably the one area where Simon’s control was better than Baz’s. Even with his heat past and his suppressors meant to be tamping all of this down, Baz couldn’t shake the omega instincts. Instincts he’d been able to ignore for over a decade.

Baz surged forward, away from Simon and towards the flat. On the walk over, they’d decided it would be better to have Baz go in as well. He would know all of the traps Fiona may’ve set, and if she came home, Simon would be there to help him get out. Baz had argued that Simon would be next to useless, but Simon had replied that at least he’d be good as a distraction.

Without pause, Baz headed straight towards Fiona’s room and let himself in.

“Not even a lock?” Simon said.

“Sometimes a reputation is as good as a lock. You saw what happened when you asked around about Fiona—do you think anyone would really be stupid enough to steal from her?”

Simon followed Baz into the room and looked down at where Baz knelt beside the bed, one arm stretched under it as he felt around for something.

“Apparently there’s one person stupid enough,” he said.

Baz turned away from his task to look up at Simon and the stupid grin on his face. It was sweet in a way that Baz knew was dangerous—a way that made his heart stutter. Instead of saying anything, he just turned back to the bed, his fingers groping through air as he searched.

Finally, he brushed against something smooth and slick. He stretched a little farther until he was able to get a purchase on it, and then started to pull it out. Shortly he had a dusty lacquered box on the faded rug in front of him. The lacquer was a glossy black, a few dull spots showing signs of age and poor care, and one corner of the varnish had some blistering as if it had come in contact with heat. _Fire._ He wondered what the chances were that this had belonged to his mum.

There was a soft thump as Simon knelt down beside him and stretched a hand out to stroke the glossy surface.

“We going to open it?” Simon asked.

Baz wondered when his throat had suddenly grown so tight, before his fingers fluttered into motion. The lid came off with minimal effort, and inside was a sheaf of papers. He pulled out a handful and started to rifle through them, Simon doing the same.

Most of it was just notes that his mother had written Fiona at some point; birthday letters and congratulations cards for big events. There were a few pages of charms, but they were the sort of sweet spells that people sometimes wrote for children as gifts—things to help them mend toys, or change the colour of clothes. It was the record of two close sisters, and Baz was suddenly aware of how much he was betraying Fiona by poking through her things.

He had to steel his arms to stop his hands from shaking.

“Did you find something?” Simon said, looking up from the fistful of papers he’d picked up.

It took a moment before Baz was sure he could answer without his voice quivering.

“No, you?”

Simon shrugged. “I don’t know. There’s some letters about the workshop, but they don’t say much. More about the people than the work. But not enough to recognize anyone. Here.”

The pages were pushed into Baz’s hand.

“What?”

“You’ll probably have a better chance of recognizing any names.”

Baz looked down at the new set, quickly shuffling through, hoping for anything that would jump out. There were one or two that sounded a little familiar, names of some of his father’s contacts or Fiona’s friends, but nothing that gave them a solid lead.

His hands froze when a word leaped off the page. The date of the letter was much later than the rest by six years or so, and the words were terse and sharp. As he read it, and then re-read it, his thoughts grew icy and numb.

_Fiona,_

_Those things I mentioned the other day have indeed come back to follow me. Malcolm thinks I’m being silly, but I can’t help but be worried. If he had seen what I found at the old workshop, he’d be worried too. When we left, it was supposed to be sealed up—all of us emptied out our rooms, and I took the Order’s records of work for safekeeping—but Davy went back. He continued the research, and I’m terribly afraid of his results. He thinks he’s created something that counts as a success, but from everything I’ve learned in my own reading and trials, he’s only created a monster._

_I think he must be cognizant of the failings since he tried to ask me for my help. As if I would ever go back to that work. As if I would ever help him. He didn’t take it well, and I suspect that he might try to get my assistance by force. If anything happens to me, please look after Baz._

_Natasha_

There was the sound of a choked off sob, and it took a moment before Baz realized that it was coming from him—that there were tears running down his face. The cold was sinking down, snaking through his veins and filling his limbs, threatening to pull him down into it. His vision grew narrower and narrower until all he could see was the letter, and then only that last sentence.

_Would she have still felt that way if she knew what I became?_

There’s no way Natasha Pitch would have ever thought a life as a vampire was better than death, and as for him being omega…he wanted to believe she wouldn’t have cared, but he’d always wondered.

Warmth bloomed across his hand, and when he finally dragged his gaze away from the letter he saw Simon’s hand pressed against him, even more golden against his own pale skin, the rough fingers moving slightly like he was trying to comfort Baz. Turning his gaze up, Baz saw those blue eyes locked on him, their usual fierceness replaced with something softer. _Concern._

Baz shoved the letter into Simon’s hands and jumped up, needing some distance. It wouldn’t take much for him to completely fall apart—he _wanted_ to fall apart, and trust that Simon would put all the pieces back together, but Baz knew that was the very worst of ideas. This was all just a temporary arrangement because it was convenient.

There was a low whistle as Simon read through the letter.

“Shit, so we’ve got our name.”

“So it would seem,” Baz said, staring hard at the small oil painting of a spaniel that hung on the wall. If he stared hard enough at the insipid dog expression or at the clumsy brushstrokes, he was sure he could excise the feelings smashing his chest into pieces.

“Then, is that it?” Simon said. “We can scarper? Or do you reckon there might be some other stuff to find if we keep looking?”

The thought of going through any more of the papers made Baz’s skin crawl. Already he wanted to go and scour his hands, as if that would get rid of what he’d done. But they hadn’t looked at them all, and he knew Fiona had one or two other hiding places around the flat.

“You keep looking here and I’ll go see what’s in the kitchen.”

Simon practically perked up at the mention of the kitchen, forcing a smile out of Baz.

“I’m not catering this, Snow. Fiona never keeps food in the flat—the biscuit tins are exclusively for hiding things.”

“Oh. Okay.” It was astonishing how much disappointment could be packed into those two words.

Baz left Simon on the floor, continuing to sort through the papers, and padded down the hall towards the kitchen. He turned on the lamp and saw the remains of the meal Fiona had made him. The tea was stone cold, the bread dry, and the cheese sweaty, but he made a mental note to take it back to Simon. With the speed at which the alpha had devoured the scones earlier, he suspected that Simon wouldn’t care the bread was stale.

He had to poke around through the cupboard under the counter until he found the biscuit tin. She had hidden it behind several bottles of her dockside rotgut, but finally he saw the red enamel.

As he pulled it out, he heard steps out in the hall. Listening closer he was able to discern two sets of footsteps, both familiar and equally dangerous to his freedom. He shoved the tin back into its hiding place and scrambled up to race back to Fiona’s room.

“We’ve got to go,” he hissed.

He crashed down beside Simon and started to shove all of the papers back into the box. His hands were shaking, but he didn’t have the time to worry about how it looked. 

“What’s going on?”

Magic started to wick off of Simon, and Baz suspected they would have maybe a minute at the most before the room would start to smell like smoke and alpha.

Jamming the lid back on top of the box, Baz pushed it under the bed and paused out in the hallway. There was no way they could go out the front door, not without the very confrontation he’d been trying to avoid since his return.

Simon trailed after him, the letter still clutched in his hands. Baz grabbed hold of one thick wrist and dragged him down the hall to his bedroom. He pushed Simon inside and then closed the door after them.

His heart pounded wildly in his chest, loud enough that it was hard to listen for the sound of the front door opening and then the muted voices that went straight to the sitting room.

Baz pressed his eyes shut and allowed himself to take a breath. When he opened them back up, Simon was standing in front of the bed wearing a curious expression.

For a moment Baz wondered what it would be like to push Simon down onto the bed. His omega practically preened at the thought of having the alpha in _his_ bed, knowing that he’d be surrounded by his scent—that his pillow and sheets would smell like Simon—and his body clenched, blood racing south.

Simon left the bed and sat down at Baz’s desk. Baz was both grateful and profoundly disappointed.

“She come back?” Simon asked, his head tilted in the direction that the voices were coming from. “Who’s with her?”

“My father,” Baz bit out.

“And you can’t…”

“No.”

“Okay, so we what? Either wait them out or…” Simon turned towards the window, gnawing on his lip as he gave it a speculative look. “How far up are we?”


	23. Chapter 23

Simon had clambered out of his share of windows, but he wasn’t sure when he’d ever had so much fun doing it. Baz had grumbled and sniped at him, but even that Simon had enjoyed.

They’d been able to slip out the window with ease and work their way down the pipe until they had reached the street. Simon had worried that their actions might draw notice, but the rule of the docks prevailed: hear nothing, see nothing, say nothing.

After that, it had been a matter of where they should go. The obvious choice was back to the storage shed—with the letter Baz had found they had a possible lead, and they needed to share it with Penny—but by then, twilight had set in and Simon knew Penny would be confined to the Bunces’ house. He was half tempted to drag Baz across town and try to talk to her anyway, but it would be too dangerous for Baz; people would recognize him there.

So, instead, Simon led Baz back to his boarding house and tried not to think about what might happen once they were alone in the room.

As they walked, he could feel a heavy mood draw over Baz. The tears from before may’ve stopped, but he could see faint traces of the tracks on Baz’s cheeks, his eyes bloodshot. Despite everything that had happened before, this was the first time he’d seen Baz looking so vulnerable; even during his heat, with his body opened up to Simon and his face the picture of wanton beauty, something had been held back. Seeing him now, like this, it made Simon want to take care of him. 

He suspected that if he ever told Baz that, he’d be told in no uncertain terms what he could do with that urge. But that didn’t stop him from walking closer, letting their hands brush against each other as they walked, needing some sort of contact. The small grazes of his knuckles against the back of Baz’s hand created sparks through Simon’s whole being, and he swore that he could feel Baz lean ever so slightly towards him. But maybe it was just because of the wind that had risen up with the start of evening.

Finally they reached the boarding house and went into Simon’s room, both hovering awkwardly near the doorway, neither looking at the bed.

“Are you hungry?” Simon asked suddenly, before flushing at the possible implications of his question. Not that he wasn’t open to that; his body still remembered the rush of feeling from Baz’s mouth on his skin, lapping up his blood.

Baz just shook his head, his gaze sweeping over the room. The urge to race around and pick up the clothes that were on the floor, or just distract Baz from seeing how miserable the room really was, made Simon’s skin prickle and the flush turn to a more sickly heat on the back of his neck. He’d never felt self-conscious about his room until now. It was more than he’d ever had before, and more than anyone at the home had expected for him—they’d made it clear they thought he’d be dead or living on the streets by this age—but Simon couldn’t stop seeing it as Baz must. He noticed the scratched floor and the signs of damp in the ceiling and walls, the musty smell of mold competing with his own scent, and the sounds of noise from the street below, loud and jarring with the window open.

_ You’re being an idiot. He’s been here before, seen it all. Damage is done. _

“Something to say?” Simon said, unable to hold back the defensive tone.

Baz’s mouth quirked, and some of the sadness that had been clinging to him lifted marginally.

“About your hovel? It’s very nice. For a hovel.” That was accompanied by an honest-to-gods smile, teeth flashing.

“Why are you such a shit?” Simon groaned, even as he wondered how something as simple as Baz’s smile could be so devastating to his peace of mind.

“Why are you such a peasant?” Baz said, drifting closer before he turned and sat down on Simon’s bed.

Simon joined him, but quickly realized it had been a bad idea. His hands gripped his thighs tightly as he fought the urge to reach out to Baz. All he had to do was turn and lean forward, and then he could kiss him, could press him back into the bedclothes and see if what they’d had before was only because of hormones and danger, or if it was something more.

He heard Baz swallow, and when they locked eyes Baz’s were dark, though he looked nervous. His gaze kept drifting to Simon’s mouth, stoking the fire and pressure building inside Simon until his body was begging him to do something. Even just being able to smell Baz up close would be enough. Maybe. 

“What should we do?” he asked, feeling off-kilter and like his world was spinning wildly.

Baz’s chest rose sharply on an indrawn breath, and then his gaze was gone, pulled away to start boring a hole through Simon’s floor.

“Now, we take a look back at my mother’s death.”

It wasn’t the sort of response Simon was expecting, and he felt a swell of shame that he had just been sitting there thinking about seducing Baz when they still had so much they needed to do—when Baz was probably still reeling after the letter they found.

“Any ideas about where we should start? Did the Watch do any investigating?” Simon said.

“The Watch are useless. They only investigate what they’re told to, and I’m sure that my father didn’t want that sort of intrusion into family affairs. Everyone already knew who did it.”

“But wouldn’t they have wanted to know why?” 

“Vampires are drawn to power. My mother had lots. They would’ve thought it was as simple as that.”

As Baz spoke his expression grew so bleak that Simon finally gave into the gnawing urge and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, tugging him close. There was a moment of stiffness before Baz melted, his eyes closing and head dropping to Simon’s shoulder. Simon moved a bit until he was partly facing the headboard, one leg folded in front and the other braced against the ground, and Baz all but in his lap.

Everywhere their skin touched, from the press of Baz’s temples against his collarbone to the dip of Baz’s waist where his hand had drifted, Baz was so cold; just like when they’d been in Fiona’s flat. Simon wrapped himself tighter around his omega and wished that he could do more to share some of his heat.

“So how do we find out why the vampires went there? Your mum killed them all, right?” Simon whispered against Baz’s hair, trying to ignore the citrus smell and the silky feel of the strands.

He could feel the shift in Baz’s jaw as he made a face.

“Not all of them.”

“Well, yeah, but you’re not likely to know…”

Baz lifted his head up a little, his hair sliding across his face, and his eyes narrowed.

“Not me. Gods, it’s like you try to be thick sometimes.”

“Hey!” Simon protested, though he was happier with a Baz that was insulting him than the bleakness of before. “So where do we find some other vampires?”

Simon half expected Baz to pull away, but instead he lowered his head back to Simon’s shoulder, pressing himself more firmly into Simon’s chest and presenting his neck. It was classic omega behaviour, the sort of thing omegas did on instinct with their mates—Baz probably didn’t even realize he was doing it—and it fucking slayed Simon. Slowly, he slid his hand up Baz’s waist to his back, and then to his shoulder, waiting to see if Baz would say something. But by the time Simon’s fingers were tracing the length of one shoulder and drifting towards Baz’s neck, Baz had only sighed softly—a puff of warm air against Simon’s own neck—and reached for Simon’s other hand.

While Simon gently massaged the soft skin of Baz’s neck gland, Baz was doing something similar with the one on Simon’s wrist. Those long aristocrat’s fingers were digging into the muscles of his forearm and wrist, releasing tension Simon hadn’t known he’d been holding, and when Baz’s thumb smoothed across the reddish skin of the gland it was like feeling a release of something he couldn’t even identify.

“I don’t know,” Baz said, and it took Simon a moment to remember what it was they had been talking about.

“Not exactly close with your other creatures of the night?”

Baz’s thumb dug in with significantly more pressure, and Simon inhaled sharply at the burst of pain.

“Sorry. Of course you’re not interacting with peasant vampires.”

Baz’s hold tightened, the pain and pressure increasing, and Simon could feel the ache in his lower body building with it. He wondered what it would be like to have the omega fully take charge—to be the one to submit to  _ Baz  _ and heat started to burn through his blood.

“Why am I with someone so troublesome?”

“Because I know all the dodgy places in town. There were some people that Penny and I met last year, when I had to accompany a caravan inland, and I guess, if anyone’s going to know where to find vampires in Watford, they would.”

This time Baz did pull away. He let go of Simon’s wrist and moved until they were a foot apart, his back resting against Simon’s pillow and the headboard.

“So? Let’s go.”

“Right now? I think it’d be better to wait until the morning. We can meet up with Penny, do some more research, and then go ask around.”

“And what sort of research do you think Bunce will be able to find that will be worth waiting a day?” Baz’s brows were low, his mouth set in a determined line.

Simon shrugged helplessly. He wasn’t even sure why he was delaying; every hour and every day counted if he was going to get rid of his obligation to the Mage. He was surprised that the Mage hadn’t already come for him; Simon was supposed to have brought him the journals already, and he wasn’t a man to wait patiently. But the thought of this all ending was…it was like he was in the final bit of a really good dream, lucid enough to know it was a dream and that he’d be waking up soon, but wanting it to go on as long as it could.

He flexed his fingers, looking down at them and trying to find the control that Penny kept going on about.

“You’re right. We can go tonight, catch her up tomorrow.”

Baz started to crawl off the bed, but at a shake of Simon’s head, he paused.

“Those taverns aren’t open yet,” Simon said, jerking his chin towards the window and the deep indigo sky. “No one will be there until midnight or later.”

“Oh. I guess I’m not familiar with the business hours of thugs and thieves,” Baz said, a smile hiding in his voice.

Simon shifted about until he was stretched out on the narrow bed, Baz’s hips and thigh near his shoulders, and rolled onto his side.

“It can’t be helped, I suppose. Can’t help your upbringing,” Simon said, eliciting a short laugh from Baz. He added, “We may as well sleep. I don’t know about you, but I’m still exhausted from…well…you know…”

“Here?” Baz looked up and down the bed and then around the room as if a second bed, or a better bedroom, was going to reveal itself.

Simon reached up and grabbed hold of Baz’s shirt collar, then tugged him down until Baz was half draped across his chest.

“Nowhere else. It’ll just be an hour or two and then we’ll go out. I promise you won’t catch anything.”

Baz’s body was tense for a moment and then he relaxed, sliding down so that his body was pressed up against Simon’s side. Simon tugged one of the blankets over them and then shut his eyes. It didn’t take long before Baz’s breathing grew deep and even.

Lulled by the smell of his omega so close, Simon also fell asleep.

***

Simon awoke a few hours later to an inky room and his body entwined with Baz’s. At some point while they slept, Baz had moved in against him so that Simon’s chin rested on Baz’s shoulder. One of Baz’s hands had been thrown around Simon, pressing against his lower back where his shirt had ridden up, and their legs had scissored together.

It was, Simon thought fuzzily, a pretty great way to way up.

Baz was still sleeping soundly and Simon took a moment to enjoy the cool feel of him, and the fact that Baz’s blocking lotion had finally worn off so that each breath he took was flavoured with Baz’s sugary smell. One of his arms was loosely slung over Baz’s hip, and without thinking, Simon pulled himself closer.

He’d woken with a hard-on straining against his trousers, and Simon rocked his hips forward, groaning into Baz’s shoulder. It was embarrassing how quick he could feel his release hovering in the background, in the coiling heat low in his spine, and he was pretty sure he could cum just like that.

His gaze drifted over Baz’s sleeping face. He looked so peaceful, and Simon felt something in his chest go tight and his throat start to close.

_ Fuck _ .

As quickly as he could manage, he pulled himself back from Baz, detangling their limbs and ignoring the throbbing of his cock.

_ Fuck. _

Simon needed some distance. He threw himself off the bed and raced over to the window, throwing up the sash and all but hanging his body over the ledge to drink in the cool evening air.

_ I’m the worst sort of idiot _ . 

His gaze bounced off the other buildings, the street, anything that might distract him from the insistent pulse of his body and the tender sweep of feelings that wouldn’t recede. This whole arrangement was  _ temporary _ , but somehow—despite knowing fucking better—Simon had actually started to have some very real feelings for Baz.

Drawing in a long, slow breath, Simon tried to focus on next steps. He needed a list, something to tell him what to do. There was nothing to be done about the bloody affection he was feeling but push it down and hope it wouldn’t get in the way of what needed to happen. The next order of importance was getting rid of his erection before Baz woke up.

He was desperate to kiss Baz awake—the room felt so much like the night they’d spent under the stars—but Simon knew that there would be no way for him to hide how deep his feelings for Baz had grown if they were to have sex now. He would need to quietly take care of himself, and then he could wake Baz up and they could see about finding some vampires.

With a final look at the curve of Baz’s shoulder and the shadowy spill of his dark hair across the pillow, Simon stepped behind the small changing screen near his wash basin. Like the rest of the furniture it was something that had come with the room, but living alone he’d never had cause to use it, until now. He knew Baz was asleep, but Simon still felt like he needed even the illusion of privacy to jerk himself off.

Behind the screen even the faint light from the street was blocked out, but it did nothing for sound; he could still hear Baz’s breathing and the faint creaks of the building around them. Simon prayed that he could be quiet enough to not disturb Baz.

Quickly he tugged at the fastenings of his trousers until he’d freed his erection. With one arm braced against the wall, he started to work his hand along his cock. He started with slow, lazy pumps, half listening to Baz sleep but soon caught up in the sound of skin on skin and the feel of his fist tightening around his aching length.

_ Baz was tighter. _ The memory of the way Baz’s wet heat had surrounded his body, pulling him in, was enough to send pre-cum dribbling out, trailing down onto his knuckles. Simon started to pump faster, his thoughts locked firmly in the past—the way Baz had begged him for a knot, the way his body had clenched so tightly around Simon as he came.

Faster and faster Simon stroked along his cock, occasionally pausing to press his thumb against the leaking slit or to massage his balls, and even as electricity was darting through his body, release coiling tightly, he still felt like something was missing.

Finally, with waves of pleasure rippling through him and his breath coming in desperate, ragged pants, Simon came. He choked back a groan, pressing his mouth against his forearm and biting in as his hips bucked.

He stayed there in the dark for a good while, trying to let his heart rate return to normal, until he finally knew he had to move. He grabbed the flannel from the washstand and wiped himself off before he set his clothes back to rights. Then he stepped back out, as ready as he’d be to face Baz and do something incredibly stupid—stupid even by his standards.

If Penny found out where they were planning to go, she’d kill them.

“Baz,” he said, hovering just beside the bed.

Baz just mumbled, pulling the blankets up further and burying his face into the pillow. It was surprisingly endearing.

“Baz, if we’re going, we have to leave now,” Simon said, a little louder this time.

There was still no sign of waking from Baz, and Simon looked around the room for inspiration, but short of pouring the water from the washbasin out onto Baz there was nothing that would work. So, Simon gave into the temptation that had been hounding him since he’d woken up.

Gently he pushed a lock of hair off of Baz’s forehead, his hand stroking along the soft strands. There was an answering moan and then the steady sound of Baz purring. Simon melted, and it was only knowing how much Baz would chew him out if they didn’t go find the vampires that stopped him from climbing in beside Baz. He could still remember the feeling of those purrs rattling from Baz’s chest into his own and falling asleep to the sound of content omega.

Simon shouldn’t be letting his guard down, but for the strangest of reasons, with this bad tempered omega, it felt okay.

He shook Baz’s shoulder gently, and when there was no response other than more of the improbably cute burrowing into the bedding, he shook it harder.

Finally he saw the glint of Baz’s eyes, narrowed and glaring up at Simon. For a moment, Simon became aware of how close they were; he was partly leaning over Baz, and all it would take was for him to lean just a little further and he’d be able to kiss Baz.

“It’s time for us to leave,” he said, voice rough.

Simon watched as a shiver ran through Baz, and he had to take a step back, pulling his hand away.

Baz sat up, pushing the covers back.

“Alright. Let’s go.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Between the holidays, things going on at work, and my beta reader and I not feeling great, it's been a bit of an ordeal to get this chapter edited. But it's here! I wrote this sometime last May and it was a little wild to re-read this (so for any of the weird things that seem kind of like they're a reference to Wayward Son, that is purely coincidental lol--Lamb, won't be turning up in this).
> 
> Happy New Year! Hope you all have a great 2020 full of awesome fandom stuff!!

As soon as they were out onto the street, Baz took a deep breath of the night air and tried to clear his head of the scent of alpha. He was sure that Simon had thought him asleep when he’d gone to jerk himself off, but Baz had been all too awake. There was no way he’d have been able to sleep through the swell of scent.

He’d woken up to the feel of Simon pulling away followed by the sudden chill without the alpha’s heat pressed against him. A hundred different pleas had come and gone through his thoughts, but none of them had made it to his lips. And then Simon had gone and tormented him. Baz had turned onto his other side, staring at the cheap fabric screen and wishing there was  _ something _ he could see to go along with the faint sounds.

With each bitten back moan, Baz had grown hotter, tighter, wishing that it was him taking Simon in hand. Or better yet, Simon sliding into him, and those hands on  _ him. _

When Simon had cum with a rush of scent and a broken moan, Baz had been left aching and jittery, needing a release of his own. He’d thought of reaching down and seeing to himself, one hand already starting to slide down his quivering stomach, when he’d heard Simon move. It had been just enough warning for Baz to roll back over to face the wall, hunching in on himself, and trying to will his erection away.

For a minute or two, as he’d been pretending to sleep, he’d thought Simon might do something. The pull between them as Simon had looked down at him—as he’d finally reached out for Baz—yanked on Baz’s stomach and made his bones buzz; he could never  _ ask _ for it, but he’d hoped with a desperate fervour that Simon would touch him. He wanted the solid weight of Simon’s body covering him, grounding him.

It was just as well that neither had given in, Baz thought as he trailed after Simon.

_ Temporary. _

That word twisted through his whole body, working its way into him like a thorn and refusing to be ignored.

All Baz could do was live with the pain and focus on the task at hand, a task that might end the need for their partnership tonight if they were lucky. He had to ignore the bitter taste to those thoughts.

“Where are we going?” he asked Simon.

Simon looked around the street as if checking to see who might overhear them before he slowed down to let Baz catch up. Part of Baz wanted to remind Simon that not only was he taller, with a stride that could easily overtake Simon’s, but he was also a vampire with a speed that could have him at the end of the block before Simon could blink; but the attempt at chivalry—while patronizing and unnecessary—was still sweet.

“You know about the guilds?” Simon said.

Baz sighed, rolling his eyes, only to realize that the gesture was probably lost on Simon in the dark.

“Snow, my family helped build Watford, of course I know about the guilds.”

Cheeks flushing, Simon glared at him.

“Do you have to be such a…an insufferable know it all?” Simon spat out.

“Wow, I’m surprised you know what that means.” Baz knew it was a cheap jab, but he felt safer when they were like this. Far better to stay in the realm of petty digs than to risk anything deeper, or gods forbid, meaningful.

“Can’t have been friends with Penny for years without picking up something.”

Baz was surprised at the sickly twist of jealousy he felt at the mention of Bunce. Even seeing that there was clearly nothing more than friendship between them, he still envied the obvious closeness between the two. They had the sort of easy affection that was impossible to miss; something Baz had never really had for himself. There were a couple of other students at school that he’d fallen in with—friends, even—but nobody that Baz could let his guard down with.

“Alright, so the guilds,” Baz said, trying to push his thoughts back to safer waters. How was it that everything to do with Simon ended up pulling him into unfamiliar or downright dangerous lines of thought?

“Yeah. The guilds. So, I’d been taking jobs for a while, sort of got to recognize some of the faces. I heard a bit about the guilds but I could never figure out how to join one.”

At Baz’s hum of amusement, Simon’s cheeks went pink again and he glared. It was charming how quick he was to rile.

“The best way to get jobs is through the guilds. And the pay is a lot better.”

“Naturally,” Baz drawled, “But I’m afraid most of the ones that traffic in brawn rather than brains still tend to look for a little pedigree. I assume they wouldn’t take you.”

Simon grimaced, a muscle working in his jaw, and he nodded.

“Yeah, made it pretty clear that I was going to be out in the cold. But then I got a job escorting a caravan to the coast. Someone else dropped out last minute; they needed the numbers and I happened to be in the square when they were looking. I talked a bit with the others, and there were two blokes that I got to know pretty well. We had a couple of tight spots and they eventually asked me if I wanted to join their guild. Wasn’t one I recognized, but I thought why not?”

With dawning horror, Baz realized where Simon’s story was going.

“Please tell me you didn’t join the Thief’s Grave?” Baz said, trying to sound as censorious as he could manage.

“You sound as bad as Penny. They’re not bad as all that, y’know.”

“It’s a guild for thieves and petty criminals!”

Simon stared hard in front of them, speeding up as they walked.

“There’s nothing petty about most of them. And the jobs they take have a bit more range.”

“I’m sorry, murderers as well,” Baz said in exasperation.

“And assassins,” Simon said, his voice low.

Baz’s heart froze.

“What?”

“There’s some in a few of the other guilds, but those ones are more for show, or retired now. They do big, showy jobs where people don’t care who knows what happened. If someone wants a death to happen quick and discrete they go to the Thief’s Grave.”

The chill was spreading out through Baz’s body, his muscles tensing and his thoughts racing at what Simon was saying.

“Are you saying that someone  _ there _ probably arranged for my mother’s murder?” His voice was deadly quiet.

Simon shrugged and sighed. Turning his head, he gave Baz a steady look.

“I’m saying that they’ll probably know who did. And if anyone is going to know where vampires are in the town, it’ll be them. Penny and I only survived the tunnels because of the maps they’d made,” Simon said.

The two veered sharply down an alley, twisting and turning as the rabbit warren of passages grew darker and narrower. Finally, they reached a brick dead end with a doorway in the middle of the wall and a wooden sign hanging above, the image of a rat burned into it.

Baz looked around at the muck and the puddle of some unidentifiable liquid that pooled near the entrance, heaving a sigh. He supposed it would be a bit much to ask that the most infamous and disreputable guild—not even a true guild, since it had never been given a charter by the town—would be in a  _ nice _ area.

Rapping his knuckles against the door, Simon took a step back, shifting his weight back and forth between his feet and flexing his fingers. It did not speak well for how this was going to go, and Baz wondered if there was something Simon wasn’t telling him about his relationship with the guild.

The door swung open soundlessly and a face peered out. Pale blue eyes all but shone in the dark, giving them a once over. Baz had the oddest sense that all of his blockers and suppressors would be useless against those eyes. And then a smile broke across the face; it was a little predatory, but friendly nonetheless.

“Snow! You’ve come back,” a rich female voice said.

“Yeah, uh, I need a bit of help.”

The woman in the doorway glanced over her shoulder before stepping outside, partially closing the door behind her. She was about Simon’s height, wearing loose breeches and a baggy shirt with a thick leather belt around her waist and a jagged blade on her hip.

“You sure you want to do that?” she said, her voice pitched low enough that it wouldn’t travel beyond the three of them.

Beside him, Baz could feel the tension in Simon’s body and the tell-tale crackle of magic starting to pour off him. This visit, Baz realized, was going to  _ cost _ Simon something.

“Yeah. Can’t be helped. I need some information and don’t know where else I can get it,” Simon said. His voice might’ve sounded easy—charming even—but Baz could feel how shallow the veneer was.

The woman looked intently at Simon for a minute or two, her head tilting slightly and eyes drifting in that way that let Baz know she was reading the currents of magic, and then she turned towards Baz.

“Do your questions have something to do with this one who has some of your magic?”

Both Baz and Simon stiffened at her words, exchanging a quick look. She burst out into laughter.

“Don’t get so panicked. It’s not terribly obvious, I’ve just got a sense for these things,” the woman said, throwing silvery hair over her shoulder. “Tell me what has you and your young lordling coming for help after you told me you’d never come back here.”

Simon’s gaze ducked to the side, his fingers still twitching.

“I said it wasn’t anything personal. Just, Penny was going to kill me if I didn’t get out…”

“Yes, yes. I remember it all perfectly well. Now, what’s your question; I’m feeling generous tonight. I’ll answer exactly one question for you, and I won’t even ask for anything in return.” 

“Where do we find the vampires?” Simon asked. His gaze was steady and fixed on the woman, but Baz could feel the magic building around Simon, like he was preparing for something to happen.

The woman showed only the briefest flicker of surprise before her smile returned, perhaps a little sharper. This time when her gaze swept over them again, lingering even longer on Baz, he was certain that she must’ve recognized what he was.

“Simon, what do you want with the vampires?”

“That wasn’t the arrangement you offered,” Baz said before Simon had a chance to speak. He drew his shoulders back and lifted his chin, though the woman only looked mildly amused. “You said you’d answer one question, and that’s the one we have.”

He watched as her eyes tightened just a fraction, her body tensing, and then she leaned against the doorway, crossing one booted foot over the other.

“I suppose,” she said, drawing out the word and considering her wickedly sharp nails. She glanced back up. “There aren’t a lot left in Watford. The ones that didn’t die trying to get to your mother fled town for the most part. A few can be found at a tavern down in the warehouse district, but I’d suggest you approach with extreme caution. Go to the end of Ash and look for  _ The Lamb’s Blood _ .”

Ice slipped down Baz’s spine, grabbing hold of his insides at her words.

“How do you know who my mother was?” he demanded.

She just smiled, pushing herself up and turning back towards the door. She opened it and started to walk in, pausing only momentarily to look back at them.

“Have fun,” she said, that smile twitching around her lips and her smoky voice sounding like she was going to break into a laugh at any second.

And then she was gone, the door closing firmly in their faces.

The moment the door clicked shut, Simon’s breath came out in a heavy whoosh, his face pale.

“Who was that?”

Simon seemed deaf to Baz’s question. He scrubbed his hands over his face, taking a shaky breath, before he finally looked at Baz. With a weak smile, Simon jerked his chin towards the direction they’d come from.

“We should get going before she decides to come back. She must’ve been in a good mood—didn’t think we’d survive that. Or get the information that easily,” Simon said.

“But who was she?” Baz insisted.

That woman—whoever she was—had  _ recognized _ him. She’d known exactly who he was, and she almost certainly knew that he was a vampire; from the way she’d been looking at them, he wouldn’t be surprised if she knew he was an omega as well. His lungs started to constrict at the very thought, his thoughts racing and circling in on themselves until he began to feel lightheaded.

“You just met the closest I’ve been able to find for a head of The Thief’s Grave,” Simon said. He looked over at Baz, his gaze far too intent for Baz’s state of mind. Just like with the woman, it felt like Simon was seeing too much.

Baz needed to say something sharp; he needed a barb that he could fling at Simon to help him keep some distance. But for the first time, words were failing him. He glared down at the uneven cobbles instead.

“There’s nothing that happens in Watford that Shelagh doesn’t know about,” Simon said, his voice too kind by half, nudging Baz’s shoulder gently.

That kindness was going to be Baz’s undoing. If he and Simon just stayed in their separate corners, he had a hope of coming out of this unscathed, but the care that the alpha took with him—the way he was able to see when Baz was close to crumbling—was too much.

***

The walk to the Lamb’s Blood didn’t take as long as Baz had thought it might. Simon seemed to have an inexhaustible collection of shortcuts, going down dank alleyways and wriggling their way between grimy buildings until they emerged halfway into the warehouse district.

Up ahead Baz could see a swinging sign over a doorway, a large leaded window glowing merrily beside it. If it wasn’t for the abandoned feel to the street, it could’ve looked like any other tavern. As they drew closer, Baz could even hear the sound of loud chatter spilling out; laughter and people calling to one another, a concertina pumping out a simple melody.

They stopped on the stoop, and Baz heard Simon’s deep inhale, his slow exhale, and the hitch in his pulse.

“You reckon this’ll be okay?” Simon asked, not taking his eyes off the door.

“Well, I’ve only met other vampires once before and it didn’t really work out in my favour,” Baz said.

Simon darted a glance at him, his eyes wide, before he laughed.

“Here’s hoping this goes a bit better.”

The door opened easily enough, its hinges groaning, and the two stepped inside.

For a moment Baz wondered if the sinister Shelagh’s information hadn’t been good. The room looked so familiar...so  _ ordinary _ —it could’ve been any of Fiona’s favoured drinking holes. People were scattered around; a few leaned against the bar top waiting for drinks, a couple near the cold fireplace was playing a game of cards, and groups were clustered around tables drinking and laughing. It was only when Baz felt Simon’s shiver beside him and became aware of just how  _ warm _ Simon was that Baz realized how cold the tavern was.

The night was mild enough and the tavern full enough that the small space should’ve been stifling, but instead it was like walking into a cathedral, or a tomb. It had a cold that lingered and couldn’t be shaken.

Still in the doorway, they heard all of the conversations peter out and everyone’s attention swung towards them. Baz got a few curious glances, but most people turned their gazes on Simon. The room fairly echoed with hunger, and Baz became aware of just how loud Simon’s pulse was; by comparison, his own felt like a thready shadow. Simon held a vitality like bottled sunshine, and every one of the patrons in the Bloody Lamb wanted it.

How had it only now occurred to Baz that this might be a terrible idea?

A young man, who’d been draped across one of the bench seats that ran the length of the tavern, got up with a languorous grace before sauntering over. His face was just short of being beautiful—his mouth a little too wide, his nose a little too small—but there was an attitude infusinghis every gesture that more than made up for it. He stopped just in front of them, his head tilting to the side as he looked between them and fussed with the sleeves of his old-fashioned jacket.

“I’m sorry, but pets aren’t allowed here. Not unless you intend to share,” the young man said.

Baz could feel Simon bristle at the man’s words and dread settled in his stomach like a hard pit.

“No, he’s not for sharing,” Baz said, throwing every ounce of authority he possessed into his words, aiming for the brusque dismissiveness he’d heard so many times in his father’s voice.

The vampire pouted, his full bottom lip poking out, before he ran his tongue over his teeth and smiled at the two of them. He gave Simon a final look and then turned to Baz.

“Oh,” the vampire said in quiet delight as his gaze raked over Baz. “What have we here?”

Simon’s scent had grown even stronger and more bitter as the vampire had moved on to Baz, his shoulders starting to rise up and his fingers clenching and flexing. There was a distinct possibility that they wouldn’t make it out of the tavern without getting in a fight.

Around the room, the other vampires had turned back to their conversations, but Baz could tell that everyone was still keeping an eye on what was happening.

Between his skills and Simon’s power, the two of them might’ve been able to take the young man in a fight, but there was no way they could take on a whole tavern of vampires.

“We’re looking for some information,” Baz said, steeling his voice.

The vampire waved towards a table at the back and headed over.

“Drinks first, I think,” the vampire said, gesturing to the man behind the bar. He glanced over his shoulder and winked rakishly. “It’s so much more fun when we’re all friends, isn’t it?”

Baz tried to swallow back the nerves that were threatening to break him apart and joined the vampire at the table. With each step further inside the bar, Baz felt danger closing in more tightly around them. It was only Simon’s presence, warm and solid, that grounded him enough to maintain his bravado.

He sat down opposite the vampire, wishing that his chair didn’t back onto the room. Simon didn’t even bother to sit, instead choosing to hover behind Baz looking like he wanted to punch something.

“It’s been eons since I’ve seen one like you,” the vampire said, and the way he stressed the syllables made Baz certain that there was less exaggeration in the man’s words than someone might assume.

“How do you mean?” Simon said.

The vampire barely spared him a glance, keeping his attention fixed on Baz, though he did answer the question.

“A vampire with magic.” His voice was breathy, almost like a sigh, and his eyes were burning into Baz. “Living vampires are common enough, but it’s rare that we get one quite like you.”

“Living vampire? Is that what I am?” Baz couldn’t stop himself from taking the bait.

The bartender arrived at the table, setting two glasses down and then disappearing. Without even lifting the long stemmed glass, Baz could smell exactly what it was: blood. And it smelled fresh. It didn’t have the cold, dead aroma of the blood that came from butchers’ shops, but a rich depth.

Baz stomach contracted painfully and his canines started to lengthen.

“Please, help yourself. Consider it a welcome drink. A chance for me to ingratiate myself,” the vampire said, picking up his own glass and twirling it in his fingers.

Despite every urge telling him to down the drink in one messy gulp, Baz pushed it further away. He didn’t want Simon to see him like that; it felt different than at the workshop, when it was him feeding from his mate, the dark pressing in.

_ Mate. _

Baz had no time to beat himself up over the slip. Whatever was going on here required his absolute focus. But that word echoed down through his muscles and into his bones.

It didn’t matter what happened between the two of them—that it was all temporary—Baz knew that there would be no going back. Without Simon even claiming him, Baz belonged irrevocably to the alpha.

“We’ve only come for some information. I have no intention of staying for drinks.”

The vampire took a sip, red clinging to his pale lips as he set the glass back down.

“And what makes you think you’ll get what you want? Everything has a cost,” the vampire said, his lazy drawl finally sharpening.

Baz wondered if they would’ve been better off with whatever cost the Thief’s Grave would’ve enacted; it certainly wouldn’t have been any more dangerous.

Beside him, Simon had managed to stay uncharacteristically silent, but with each moment they were in the Bloody Lamb, the smell of smoke thickened. At first the vampire just ignored it, but as it grew stronger, the heat from Simon ratcheting up, Baz could see some of his polish crack.

The vampire’s nostrils flared, his eyes darting around like he couldn’t stop himself from checking to see if there was a fire.

“Something the matter?” Baz asked.

This whole thing was taking far longer than he wanted. For all that he was one of them, Baz felt no kinship with the vampires. All he saw when he looked around the room were the monsters that had killed his mother and ruined his life. This was what his father, his step-mother, even Fiona saw when they looked at him. It was time for Baz to speed this up.

He reached for his glass, making a show of picking it up by the thin stem, and when the vampires eyes were drawn to the movement, he released some magic into a quick working.

The spell wasn’t much, more illusion than anything physical. In his first year at school, Baz had worked his way through all of the books on basic charms; it had given him something to do with his time—to pretend that he wasn’t heartbroken he’d been sent away, or lonely because the vampire child had to be kept separate from all of the other omegas. This charm had been scrawled into the back of one of the books—something to conjure flames. Even once he’d learned that the flames weren’t real, he’d still got a perverse pleasure watching them lick across his fingers as the monks panicked about the flammable vampire boy.

Within seconds of the flames appearing—warm orange that danced over Baz’s knuckles and wrapped around his wrist—the vampire’s eyes went wide. Keeping an eye on the man, Baz dropped his wrist to the table.

“There’s no fire allowed on the premises,” the vampire said. His tone of amusement was completely gone; instead he had the panicked tone of a teacher losing complete control of a class.

“No?” Baz asked. He pushed a little more power into the spell and watched the flames grow, sparks flying off and drifting onto the table and over towards the vampire. Around him, the mood of the room was quickly turning. “Do you know who I am?”

The vampire nodded, a struggle between fear and the earlier arrogance playing across his face. “Of course. I had money on whether you’d been made one of us.”

Simon actually growled at that. Baz chose to ignore it.

“If you know who I am, then you’ll know that I mean it when I say I have no problem bringing this whole bar down, me included. I suggest that you answer my questions…quickly.”

The vampire didn’t say anything in response, instead sitting back, unable to completely look away from the flames. Baz took that for the closest acknowledgement of defeat that he was likely to get, and decided to press forward.

“My mother—why did the vampires go to her workshop?”

“Because they were hired. Is that it? Well, feel free to head on out—don’t forget to take the pet with you,” the vampire said. He rose up from his seat, his movements jerky as he started to walk away.

“Who hired them? And why?” Baz said, his voice rising.

All of the other vampires had given up any pretence of ignoring the unfolding scene. Around him, Baz could see dozens of pairs of shiny eyes watching with a sort of fascination and unease, the whispered name of Natasha Pitch rising up from the hum of conversations.

The vampire turned on his heel and marched for the door. Baz and Simon shared a quick look and hurried after him. As they walked through the room, Baz could see the vampires shrinking back at the sight of the flames, but their gazes still felt too close and too sharp.

At the entrance, the vampire kicked the door open and stepped out into the night. Once the three of them were out onto the packed dirt, the door closed behind them, the vampire finally started to speak.

“I don’t know what you think you’re trying, but no one wants any part of that,” the vampire said.

All pretence of the indolent fop was gone and instead Baz was just faced with rage and fear.

_ Is that what I’m going to turn into one day? _

This was the first time Baz had really seen any vampires after he’d been turned, and he ached with the need to ask all of the questions that had been building up for years. But now was not the time—Baz wasn’t sure if there would ever be a time, not really. When it came down to it, he wasn’t sure he wanted the answers.

“All we want is to know who put the order out on Baz’s mum,” Simon growled.

“Oh, so the pet speaks? Charming. But, answer’s still the same. You need to leave,” he said through bared teeth, his elongated canines on display.

“I’m surprised that vampires could be so scared,” Baz said with a sneer.

The vampire leaned in close enough that Baz could smell blood on his breath.

“What do you know? You’re barely a fledgling. Come back when you’ve survived a century and managed to not be burned in your bed by mages, or harvested for spells.”

Spittle sprayed across Baz’s cheek as the vampire spoke. Baz lifted one hand and made a show of wiping it off, his gaze as icy as the cold gripping him tight.

“All I need is a name. Something to go on. Otherwise, well…I may be a fledgling vampire, but I can assure you I’m more than competent as a mage…” Baz watched the fear flare in the vampire’s eyes as the flames consumed his hand and stretched up most of his forearm.

Simon gave the flames a curious look, but stayed mercifully silent. All Baz needed at that moment was for Simon to reveal the ruse.

The vampire looked furtively around the street and then stepped closer.

“From what I remember, there were no names. Some mage came around, asking for some people to take on a job—a collection job. They were sent there to get some books. It just went…bad.” The vampire’s face twisted into a look of sadness, and Baz wondered if he was supposed to feel sad that this man had lost some friends in that attack.

“That’s all you have?” Simon was radiating with indignation.

After the first once over the vampire had all but completely ignored Simon, but now he gave him a second look, disgust twisting his face into something ugly and vicious.

“That’s all you’re going to get. And unless either of you are prepared to actually follow through on any of your threats, I suggest you leave.”

“Even a description would be enough,” Baz said. It cost him so much just to keep his tone even. “Consider it help to find the man who sent your friends to their death.”

The vampire stayed frozen for a minute, gaze boring into Baz. It was unnerving to be around something so quiet, no pumping of blood through veins and even the pretence of breathing given up.

“It was a man. Green eyes. Rather handsome in a vulpine sort of way. An alpha.”

“How old?”

With a shrug, the vampire started to turn away.

“What does that even mean? Anyone who doesn’t measure their years in centuries looks young to me.”

Simon started to pull his fist back and Baz had to grab hold of his wrist. The alpha glared up at him, but Baz returned the look with force.

“It would be nice if you could give me something that might have some actual use. There are any number of alphas with green eyes of some undetermined age roaming around Watford.”

The vampire’s smile had returned, though Baz noticed that his voice stayed low and he hadn’t lost the cautious air about him.

“He had a tattoo. Two actually. One was some device, the sort of silly thing copied out of a Book of Demons, and the other was some rather elegant script in Abyssal.”

On that the vampire gave them a final look, and with a lift of his hand in mock salute he walked back into the Bloody Lamb and shut the door with a heavy slam.

“Well…” Simon said.

“Yeah.”

Then, Simon grabbed Baz’s hand and started to pull him down the street and away from the tavern.

“Where are you taking me?” Baz demanded.

Simon didn’t so much as slow down. Instead, he tugged Baz down another one of his infernal alleys. It was only once they were in the tight darkness that Simon stopped.

He pushed Baz up against the brickwork, his solid body crowding close, and then Simon’s lips were on him. Baz had no idea what was going on, but he was only too happy to set aside everything tearing him up and surrender to the feel of Simon against him.

  
  



	25. Chapter 25

Everything about the Bloody Lamb had put Simon on edge; the foul feeling to the magic that permeated the tavern, like the smell of rot; the way Simon had to stay quiet and helpless; the way they’d all looked at Baz. The room had echoed with the hunger and fascination—the longing—they’d all had for Baz. It was all Simon had been able to do not to throw his omega over his shoulder and carry him off to somewhere safer—somewhere he could be sure that the omega would stay  _ his _ .

When they’d finally left, after that fucking fop had  _ panted _ over Baz, Simon’s control had snapped. The moment they were in the safety of the dark alley, away from any eyes that might be around, Simon surrendered to the need to claim.

He pinned Baz to the wall, his hips driving up against the omega and his mouth crashing down in a possessive kiss. Fire tore through Simon at the chilly press of lips, and when Baz arched forward, his tongue pressing into Simon’s mouth in a demand for more, Simon was helpless to do anything but offer up whatever the omega wanted. His hands wrapped around Baz’s wrists, pinning them against the brick, and his thumbs massaged the glands there in the way he’d learned made Baz’s eyes glaze over and his breath come in ragged pants.

Simon whole body pulsed with need, attuned to the rising smell of aroused omega and the shift of Baz’s body pressing closer. He could feel Baz’s hard cock between them, and when Simon rocked their hips together Baz’s groan was deep, his eyelashes fluttering closed.

The moment Simon finally let go of Baz’s wrists, cool fingers slid across his shoulders, one hand grabbing a fistful of his shirt and the other sliding up into his hair. Pleasure rippled through Simon when Baz scraped his nails along his scalp.

When Simon pulled back to catch his breath, he had to take a moment to marvel at the beauty of Baz before him. Even in a dingy alley, he was something to behold; splotches of colour had risen up in his cheeks, and his pupils were blown so that his eyes looked black in the dark. He was beautiful and wrecked, and none of those vampire toffs inside the bar got to see him this way.

Simon claimed Baz in another kiss of possession.

_ Mine. _

Except this wasn’t the place. Simon was suddenly aware that he and Baz had never had sex in a bed. Or even indoors for that matter—unless an abandoned cave structure was considered indoors. As much as Simon wanted to reach down and make Baz come around his fingers or take him right there against the wall, even more pressing was the need to get Baz home.

Simon’s omega needed to be back where he could protect him. Where he could surround him in his own scent. Where he could  _ worship _ him.

Simon stepped away, his knees weak and his cock throbbing against the confines of his trousers.

“We should keep going. Back to mine.”

“Uh yeah. Yes.”

Baz’s mouth was kiss swollen and Simon had a hard time looking away. Summoning up what remained of his tattered control, he grabbed Baz’s hand and interlaced their fingers.

“When we get back…I want…”

“What do you want, Simon?”

The sound of Simon’s name in Baz’s roughened posh voice pushed the fire in him to the brink, narrowing his world until all that existed was the need to hear Baz say it again. But Simon didn’t know what to say. He wanted to lay Baz out on his bed and  _ devour _ him, but he still wasn’t sure if this was anything more than convenience and hormones for the omega.

Baz lifted his free hand and brushed it across Simon’s forehead. There was so much gentleness in the gesture that all Simon could do was summon some courage and put his cards on the table.

“I want you.”

“So I gathered.”

“No. I want you. I want…” He glared down at their hands in frustration, and then lifted them up to brush a kiss across Baz’s knuckles. Simon could only hope that actions would say what his words couldn’t.

“So, take me home with you.”

***

The journey back to the boarding house was either the longest or the shortest journey of Simon’s life. By the time they’d returned, it was all he could do to wait until they had stepped through the doorway of his room before he closed in on Baz.

Except, this time, it was Baz who crowded Simon back and claimed the first kiss. He led Simon to the bed and pushed him down, then straddled his lap, sinking down against Simon’s aching cock.

Simon tried to take control of the moment, to slow the pace and get a chance to linger in a way that hadn’t been possible before, but Baz wouldn’t allow it. Instead, Baz set the pace with his lips and tongue and the slide of his hands up Simon’s chest, starting on the line of buttons.

“I want you inside me,” Baz gasped.

All thoughts of slow and tender evaporated. Simon lifted Baz off of his lap, setting him down beside him on the bed, and raced to tug off his clothes. Baz laughed a little at his frenzy, but his hands were no more steady as he worked on his own shirt and trousers.

The moment they were both free, Simon took a moment just to look at Baz. Before, they had only stripped down enough to fuck, the dark always close around them, but with his small daylight lantern Simon finally had a chance to look his fill.

Baz had the sort of body that people wrote poetry about. He wasn’t muscled in the way Simon was, but he had a lean body that spoke of casual strength and breeding—like a thoroughbred—and his skin was an untouched expanse of white. Hesitantly, Simon reached out, his finger barely skimming Baz’s skin as he traced a line from the centre of his clavicle down his chest and stomach.

“If you’re going to touch me, fucking touch me.”

As if to make the point more clear, Baz reach forward to take Simon’s cock in hand. As his fingers trailed up the length, he fucking  _ purred _ . With one hand, Baz explored Simon’s deflated knot and balls, the other pumping along his shaft.

“So hot,” Baz said before he pressed a kiss against the crown of Simon’s cock. A second later he started to tentatively lick around the head, and Simon had to stop Baz before he came right there.

He pushed Baz back down against the bed, grinding against him he settled his weight over Baz.

When he finally allowed himself to reach down to the firm curve of Baz’s ass, the skin was damp with slick. His fingers slipped easily around Baz’s hole, teasing the tight entrance and leaving the omega panting beneath him. The fit was tight around his first finger, Baz clenching around the intrusion, but it was still a smooth slide, and soon he could feel Baz loosening up. It wasn’t long before he had two fingers working inside him.

The omega’s eyes were tightly shut, tears on his inky lashes, and when Simon’s fingers found the spot he was looking for, he felt Baz go taut underneath him and heard a desperate gasp escape. Pre-cum was leaking from both of them, making a mess of Baz’s stomach, and Simon’s hand was soaked with slick up to his wrist. He continued to work his fingers until he decided that Baz was loose enough for a third.

Baz’s body welcomed the additional intrusion, and Simon desperately wished it was his cock instead.

_ Soon. _

As he resumed his rhythm, Simon stretched up for a kiss. His tongue swept through Baz’s mouth, grazing those sensitive teeth and Baz came around him, curses spilling into Simon’s mouth and his body gripping Simon’s fingers tightly.

He didn’t give Baz a second to rest before his fingers were back in motion. Around him, Baz’s body, so slick and warm, was still twitching. Gently, Simon pressed kisses along the tracks of Baz’s tears and the sharp curve of his cheekbones down to his jaw.

With each press and turn of his fingers, he felt Baz open up further as little keens poured out. Finally, Baz lifted his hands from where they were entwined in the sheets and shoved against Simon’s shoulders.

Simon instantly stopped what he was doing, wondering what was wrong. His chest heaving and body tight to the point of desperation, he looked Baz over to see what was wrong.

Baz pushed on his shoulders again, and Simon rolled off him. The moment Baz was free, he pushed himself up and then clambered over Simon, straddling his waist.

From this angle, Simon could see the elegant lines of Baz’s body rising above him, the proud jut of his cock, and the hunger that was etched across his face. Simon started to reach for Baz’s erection, desperate to see him come apart again, but Baz batted his hand away.

“My turn,” Baz said.

He leant forward, his thighs flexing in a way that made Simon wonder why he hadn’t spent any time on them yet before Baz pressed the flat of his tongue against Simon’s nipple.

Simon’s cock twitched with the unexpected jolt of pleasure. It was an area that he’d never given much consideration, but with each pull of Baz’s lips, Simon could feel a slow heaviness build. Lips and tongue were quickly joined by teeth, leaving gentle nips and marking kisses on the surrounding flesh. Each time Baz’s canines dragged against his skin, Simon could feel a fresh surge of slick from Baz.

He reached for Baz, sliding his fingers up Baz’s thighs and around to his ass.

“I’m not sure how much longer I can last.”

Baz looked up at Simon through his lashes, not bothering to stop but instead switching to the other side with a wicked grin.

Simon wasn’t sure how he’d managed to get to this point—where it was Baz taking control; Baz who wanted to take care of  _ him _ —but he didn’t want it to end.

Finally Baz slid lower until Simon’s cock was nudging up against hiss entrance, slick dripping onto Simon’s thighs. His fingers tightened on the meat of Baz’s ass, needing the relief that was beckoning.

And then Baz lifted himself up, lined his entrance up with Simon’s cock and sank down. The feel of being surrounded, gripped by that wet heat was dizzying, tingles spreading out across his body and a fierce pressure building low in his spine.

There was a beautiful flush across Baz’s chest and neck as he lazily rode Simon, one hand dropping to palm at his own straining cock. It didn’t take more than a few pumps, his hips rising and falling around Simon, until Baz came again, his cum spilling out onto Simon’s stomach and up his chest.

All Simon could feel was the tight grip of Baz’s body trying to pull him into his own orgasm, but Simon didn’t want this to be it. He wanted to fuck Baz until there was no way the omega would ever consider taking another alpha; wanted to fuck Baz until the omega would forget what it was like to breath air that didn’t carry their mingled scents.

His thoughts had veered sharply into a territory Simon had never known before, and panic threatened to overwhelm him. Heat suffused his whole body, and everything felt too slow—he needed more. It was the same feeling as his first and only rut, when Simon had spent a day straight jerking himself off until he was raw and the skin around his knot was tender, but this was worse. Better. It was all consuming, and Simon’s heart lurched when Baz leaned forward to kiss him.

This kiss was sweet, a gentle brush of lips as Baz cupped Simon’s cheek, his fingers brushing away the tears that had started to well up in Simon’s eyes.

“Are you okay?” Baz whispered between kisses.

Simon nodded.

“Yeah, you?”

He felt Baz’s smile in the next kiss.

“You’re rather intense, you know?”

“Just with you,” Simon whispered, immediately wondering if that was too honest.

“Simon.”

Simon’s body clenched at the way Baz said his name. It was soft and sweet and a little bit exasperated.

“Yeah?”

“When are you going to knot me?”

Every nerve in Simon’s body caught fire and he lost the ability to think. He tightened his hold on Baz’s hips and began to slam himself up into his welcoming grip, taking Baz’s mouth in another claiming kiss. It didn’t take long before Baz was arching against him, dragging his nails down Simon’s chest.

“Knot me,” Baz said, the words nearly lost to his ragged breath. “Alpha, I want you to make me yours.”

That was enough to finally drag Simon past the edge, and he came with a jerk, body turning liquid with the release. Baz hummed as Simon filled him up with cum, continuing to move on Simon’s cock until his knot had popped and locked them together. Even then, Baz still moved; post-orgasm, Simon was sensitive enough that it was just shy of painful, but when he finally felt Baz’s release it was enough for him to feel himself pulse again inside his omega. Together they sank back to the bed, boneless and sated.

Carefully, Simon rolled to his side, groaning as the shift in movement tugged at his knot before he pulled Baz against his chest. The omega was an absolute wreck—his hair damp and tangled in a well-fucked look, his chest and belly a mess of cum and sweat, his ass and thighs drenched with slick—but Simon thought it was a good look for Baz. He felt a swell of pride that he was the one who got to see Baz like this.

He kissed Baz again, stroking his hands over every inch of skin he could reach in their current position. His movements were lazy as he enjoyed the slow drag of his fingers along skin and the way Baz was warmer like this than normal. Purring started somewhere deep in Baz’s chest and punched through Simon’s to carve itself into his bones.

As surely as if he’d given Baz mating bites, this omega was his now; Simon just had to hope Baz felt the same way.

  
  



	26. Chapter 26

In the struggling light of early dawn, Penny finally staggered out of the library to go find a cup of tea. Her eyes were raw, like someone had scrubbed them with sandpaper, and her limbs felt heavy as she walked. After she had left Simon and Baz the night before, she had gone straight to the workshop library to smuggle a few books home before her curfew kicked in; the rest of the night had been spent in the home library, looking for any mentions of demonic symbols or uses of Abyssal she could find. At least her parents had forgotten about trying to make the whole family sit down for a meal—everyone retreating back to catch as catch can—so she’d grabbed herself a plate of whatever she could eat one-handed while reading and kept working.

But now, she needed a break.

Hours she’d been at her work, and she still wasn’t sure she’d found anything. All of the books alternated between coy and knowing references to Abyssal and outright fear; neither approach gave her any information. All her efforts had allowed was to determine that no one wanted to do any work involving demons. Around four, Penny had finally found a paragraph that confirmed everything she suspected: demons might have enough power to make any spell possible, but they were far too unpredictable.

Penny let herself into the kitchen and staggered over towards the fire. It had been put out for the night ages ago and after five minutes of searching through the kitchen for anything to relight it, her eyes prickling with exhaustion and mounting frustration, she finally gave up and just used magic. Her mother would be appalled that Penny had used magic for something so frivolous, but Penny was certain that tea was life or death for her at that moment.

She filled up the kettle and hung it on the hook over the fire, then collapsed into a chair. Her head felt heavy and she sank down onto the table until her cheek pressed against her forearms.

For a moment she wondered about just falling asleep there, before she scolded herself. There were still another three books that she hadn’t so much as touched, and another two where she hadn’t checked the bibliographies at the back. She couldn’t give up now; this was about getting Simon’s freedom.

Except Penny wasn’t sure that there was anything they could find—not quickly enough—that would allow Simon to clear his debt to the Mage.

She heard the hiss of the kettle as it began to boil and somehow found the energy to push herself up from the table and stagger over to make her tea.

Outside of the room she heard footsteps before the door swung open and her mother walked in.

Mitali froze in the doorway, looking between Penny and the kettle. Her own eyes were bloodshot and it appeared as though she’d been reading all night.

“Oh, I didn’t think anyone was up,” Mitali said.

Penny was too tired to panic, so instead she just finished pouring the water into the teapot and smiled blearily at her mother.

“Had something I wanted to research, and you know how it goes…”

Her mother laughed and walked over to the table, sinking down into the chair Penny had abandoned.

“Yes, I suppose I do. What have you been working on lately?”

Penny grabbed two cups from the cupboard and brought them and the teapot over to the table before she sat down. Her mother smiled gratefully, and Penny had the oddest moment of realizing that she’d missed this. It wasn’t often that she got to have these quiet moments with her mum. She knew that she could always go ask for help if she needed it, but Penny was aware of how important both of her parents’ research was to them and she could never bring herself to interrupt them. It was nice to just be sat across the table from her mum and to be asked.

Except, Penny wasn’t sure that she should really be talking about any of this with her mum. There was no way Mitali would be okay with her child researching anything to do with demons. Even with Penny’s thoughts as sluggish as they were, she knew she would have to proceed carefully.

“I’ve been doing a bit of this, bit of that. Just reading around and trying to find my next project.”

Mitali leaned back in her chair, her arms folded across her chest, and even in her sleep-fogged state, Penny was sure that her mother was able to see right through her.

“Hmm? Anything catch your interest so far?”

“A few possibilities. I had a few ideas about the use of magic in the creation of artifacts—”

“Oh, thinking about looking into the dwarves then?” Her mother laughed a little. “Please tell me it’s mountain dwarves and not the hill dwarves. I’m not sure your father and I could take another child doing research into brewing—not after Prem’s disastrous summer.”

Penny smiled a little. She remembered when Prem had come home from the Western Hills; all he’d talked about for weeks were hops and fermentation, and he’d grown rather insufferable about the tasting of beers—particularly since he’d never been able to brew a decent batch on his own. Finally, after a few months of trying to force his noxious concoctions on everyone, he’d quietly given it up and moved on to something else.

“No, I was thinking more about forging. I’d been hearing some interesting stories down in the square about ironwork they’ve been doing.”

“Oh. And I suppose that has something to do with Simon,” Mitali said with pursed lips.

Quickly Penny started to fuss with the teapot, pouring it out and dropping sugar into her cup. She didn’t even  _ like _ sugar in her tea, but she didn’t want to risk making eye contact with her mother.

“There are a few practical applications, but it’s just one of the ideas I was considering.”

“Oh? What else are you looking at?”

Penny took a gulp of her tea, scalding her tongue.

“Uh, well there’s…”

Why of all times did she have to draw a blank now? All she could think about was everything Simon and Baz had told her about that workshop. And she couldn’t help but remember Baz’s suggestion that her parents had been involved with the Order. It did make a sort of terrible sense, though there was absolutely no way that they would have done any rituals that involved demons or sacrifices. She was almost certain.

“Yes?”

“Well, I had a few more questions for you about what we talked about the other day? You remember? Natasha Grimm-Pitch’s work?”

Her mother sighed and picked up her cup, blowing across the top.

“Oh, Penny. Please tell me you’re not getting into that sort of stuff. I can assure you it’s a dead end, and really…you spend so much time with that Snow boy that you should know better than anyone that more power does not mean a better mage.”

“I’m not interested in trying to pursue the actual work. This is more for a…historical sake,” Penny said, trying to figure out how to proceed. The only path she could see was to surrender a little more information. “I’ve actually talked with Baz Pitch a couple of times now, and he’s…he’s keen to learn a bit more about his mother.”

“Baz? He’s back in Watford?” Mitali set her cup back down and looked closely at Penny. “That boy has been gone for so long. I would’ve thought that his father would be parading him around now that his son and heir is back.”

_ Shit _ . In the fog of too many books and too little sleep, Penny had forgotten that no one was supposed to know that Baz was in Watford. Her parents didn’t exactly move in the same circles as the Grimms and Pitches, but they had enough people in common that Baz’s family would certainly find out Penny might know where Baz was.

Best she could hope was that the news moved slowly and they could still have a day or two.

But Simon wouldn’t have that long. He was already long past due to hand over the journals to the Mage; if Simon didn’t get something soon, she was certain that the Mage would send people after him.

“He is, but I think they’re trying to keep it quiet. It’s just a short visit before he goes back to school. He’d heard that his mother used to have a shared work space somewhere out in the countryside and he wanted to track down some of the names. Just to talk to them. Get to hear some stories about his mum.”

Mitali’s face went blank and Penny’s heart sank. She watched as her mum’s fingers tightened around the handle of her cup.

“I’m afraid I can’t be of much help.”

“But I heard that you used to be out there.” Penny held her breath, watching her mother’s reaction to her bluff.

“Did your father say something?” Mitali’s voice was sharp as her gaze zeroed in on Penny.

“I don’t need to know that much…I just…when did you stop going out there?”

Penny started to fidget with her ring, spinning it round and round, unable to stop. With each circle, she could feel her anxiety creep higher as she waited for her mum to respond. Mitali just sighed, her shoulders slumping, energy draining out of her. Usually Penny’s mum had a fierce energy that made her appear almost ageless, but Penny was suddenly aware of the grey threading through her hair and the lines around her eyes and mouth.

“Before you were born. Well before. Just after Prem. Your father and I joined because it was the thing to do—pooling resources and collaborating on spells; and he was so keen on trying to make some progress. But it all got a bit much. Natasha had never really been one for sharing her success, and there were some members that were starting to explore avenues that we’d already decided were non-starters.”

“Other members? There were a lot of them?”

“A good number. I told you before, that field of research went through something of a fad. There were a few that did it for the connections—the Wellbeloves were out there for a time—and then some were more…dedicated.”

“Dedicated? Like they were willing to explore unconventional methods?”

“Like he was willing to do whatever it took.”

“He?”

Mitali’s gaze had grown distant as she spoke, but it suddenly snapped back to attention as she glared at Penny.

“I thought you wanted to know about Natasha. For Baz.”

Penny gulped and took a quick sip of her tea.

“Yes, but it would be good for me to get as many names of people who might’ve known her during that time. To help him get a complete picture,” she said, her words spilling out too fast.

Her mother threw back the rest of her tea and then got up. She took the cup over to the sink, leaving it on the draining board, and peered out the window at the brightening sky.

“I wouldn’t suggest you talk to him. The Mage could be difficult, even before he gave himself that ridiculous name. I know that you and Simon think you’re some sort of adventurers, but you should stay away from him. He’s wily and ambitious, and he made it his mission to remake Watford into…into something. He’ll use anything he thinks will give him an advantage, whether it’s your family and brains, or Simon’s power.” Mitali shivered and gave Penny a bleak look. “I’m loathe to imagine a world where Davy has that boy under his control.”

“That was his name?”

“Davy? Yes.”

It was so odd to think of the Mage having an actual name. For as long as Penny had known of him, he’d always just been the Mage, but she supposed everyone had to have an actual name at some point. A roiling nausea churned in Penny’s stomach and rose up through her chest.

It made perfect sense. Why else would the Mage have cared so much about Natasha Grimm-Pitch’s materials from that time? Penny knew first hand that the Mage was determined enough to do whatever it took, pay whatever price, to get even the simplest of jobs finished. This whole time, she’d been desperately hoping that he hadn’t been a part of the research group—the little she knew about him was that he was not from one of the Old Families, and for once she’d hoped that the tyranny of Watford’s cronyism and elitism had reigned strong—but he was one of the strongest mages she’d ever encountered; she should’ve known that his power alone would’ve opened doors normally closed to someone of his class.

And Simon  _ owed _ him.

Penny’s gaze darted around the room and then out the window, trying to gauge the time. How soon could she go find Simon?

_ Not soon enough. _

The Mage knew exactly where to find him—if he hadn’t done so already. If ever there was a time for Penny to risk her freedom, it was now. She had to get to Simon and Baz and let them know what she’d learned, convince Simon to get out of town.

“Penny,” Mitali said, her sharp voice slicing through Penny’s panicked planning. “Promise me you won’t go talk to the Mage.”

“Uh, of course. I doubt he’d even want to talk to me, or Baz. But, I should get to bed. Reading about dwarven smelting processes has completely fried my brain. I’ll get a couple hours of sleep, and then drop by the workshop later.”

Penny twisted and twisted her ring, trying to will her mother into believing the lie.

Mitali blinked and then nodded. She smiled sleepily at Penny and walked to the door, clearly already starting to think about her own work.

“Alright. Let me know if you need some recommendations. I have a couple of periodicals that discuss grounding spells to objects on my shelf. You’re welcome to give them a read.”

“Thanks, mum.”

Penny followed her mum out the door and then wait straight to her room. For twenty minutes she waited, stretched out on her bed and listening to the house around her, until she decided it was safe before she dressed quickly in her work clothes, grabbed a cloak and her notebook, and then snuck out.

As she raced across Watford, she just hoped that the Mage hadn’t found Simon yet.

  
  



	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Things have been pretty crazy for both me and my beta reader (I've been dealing with a cold for the last couple weeks on top of the busiest season at work, sigh).
> 
> Hope you all have been having a good 2020 so far! And thank you to everyone who's been following along with the fic (and especially to those of you who have been leaving comments) ❤️ It totally makes my day (and often my week) to get the comment notification email.

Somewhere in the dark and quiet, Simon had come to the realization that he was on borrowed time. Lying on his narrow bed, his limbs still entwined with Baz’s, his mind churned over all the things that could go wrong; everything that could snatch away this precious sliver of happiness.

It was a well worn trail for his thoughts. No sooner had he met Penny than he’d started to see all of the ways that she might be taken away, that she might _choose_ to leave him. But this was so much worse. Listening to Baz’s slow heartbeat against his ear, the omega’s cool skin softening the heat that often threatened to overwhelm him, he knew that losing this would break him in ways he couldn’t begin to anticipate.

His feelings for Baz had been overwhelming from the start, to the point where Simon couldn’t have held anything back if he’d tried. He had simply been swept away, and now he had to figure out how to do his best by Baz.

And that meant making sure his debt to the Mage never touched him.

Today was the day—or yesterday, rather—Simon was supposed to have brought the Mage the journals. If he went to see him right away, there was a slim chance that he might still be able to reason with him. He could offer to take on any other job to make it up, and then be done with it all.

Careful not to wake Baz, Simon pulled himself free and set about dressing in the dark. There was a soft grumble from the bed, and Simon froze, his trousers halfway up his legs and his breath stalled in his chest. He listened to Baz’s slow deep breaths and watched for any sign of movement until he finally allowed himself a shaky exhale and resumed dressing.

Before too long he was as ready as he would get to head out. He took a final moment to look at Baz. Dark hair had tumbled across his face, rumpled in a way that reminded Simon exactly how it had got into that state, and the fading remains of kisses were scattered across his shoulders and neck. He looked beautiful and well-fucked, and Simon wanted nothing better than to crawl back into bed and explore all of the spots he’d missed; he wanted to make Baz cum again and again, filling him up until he was…

Simon wasn’t even sure he was ready to follow that thought through to the end. It was far too early—too dangerous—for him to start thinking about what he wanted long-term with Baz. But if he could finally clear his slate with the Mage, then maybe he could move closer to a future where those thoughts would be possible.

For the first time in the years Simon had lived at the Mummer's House, the door swung open soundlessly, the universe lining up to help him have a quiet exit. Once in the hallway, he pulled on his boots and then crept outside.

Dawn was no more than a half hour away as Simon moved quickly through the streets, trying to make a plan.

He didn’t know where the Mage lived, but he knew a few places where the other alpha could sometimes be found. Even if he _couldn’t_ be found, Simon knew there’d be someone who would tell the Mage he was looking for him. News could always be counted upon to travel fast in certain circles, and the Mage’s network was second to none. Unlike the Old Families, the Mage had no qualms about mixing with the lower classes or making deals with the less savoury guilds.

From his boarding house, it didn’t take long for Simon to get to the Crown and Anchor. The evening trade had long since wound down—this far from the docks, they didn’t bother with any of the late night patrons—but as one of the bars run by the Thief’s Grave, it was always open to those who needed a quiet space to conduct business.

Simon had promised himself he’d never use the key Shelagh had given him when he’d first joined the guild, but if it was just the once he was pretty sure it would be fine. And as soon as all this was wrapped up, he’d finally return it and cut the last of his ties.

_For an omega that you barely know?_

The thought twisted past his guard and pulled his stomach tight, a chill picking away at his spine.

Was it really a good idea for him to pin his hopes for the future on Baz? They hadn’t talked about what would happen a _day_ from now, never mind a week, or a month, or a year.

But Simon didn’t care. Baz might have been the catalyst for this decision, but he knew it was a long time coming. Every time he took one of the dodgy jobs he knew that it not only put him in danger, but it had also threatened Penny—put her freedom at risk just as much as her life. Simon needed to be better.

And just maybe, _he_ deserved to be safe. To not have to worry about what was going to come after him in the dark.

Inside, the bar was dim, only a single lantern left out on a table. At the sound of the door, the barman walked out from the back. His shirt was mostly undone and his hair sleep rumpled, but the moment he saw Simon his eyes widened.

“Brave of you to show your face here,” the barman growled. He pressed one meaty fist on the bartop and leaned over to peer through the gloom at Simon.

“I need to see the Mage.”

“I’m afraid the Mage doesn’t set his schedule by the likes of jumped up guttersnipes who do his legwork.”

Simon let a little of the hold on his magic slip, allowing it to spill off in waves that filled the room. The barman jerked back, hands rubbing up along his bare forearms; clearly he’d felt the magic.

“I can wait.”

Without waiting for a response, Simon walked over to his usual table and sat down on the bench that was against the wall. He longed for a pint to soothe his nerves, or anything he could fuss with. There was too much energy coursing through him. Reining his power in was always harder than letting it go, and his whole body felt hot and a little achy; his throat burned, soreness beginning around his glands and spiralling upwards, and each of his joints felt like a wheel with sand poured into it.

_Just a little longer._

He sank back against the bench, his head resting on the padded backing, and stared up at the scarred and stained ceiling. It was probably a good thing if he had to wait a while—it would show that he wasn’t high enough on the Mage’s list of priorities—but it was a peculiar sort of agony.

Finally, he smelled the Mage enter before he lifted his head up and saw the man himself walking into the room from one of the side doors. It didn’t matter that it was the early hours of the morning, the Mage looked as invulnerable as he always did.

“Simon, I worried that you were in the wind.”

The reverberations through the Mage’s voice as well as the swell of alpha pheromones were making Simon’s muscles tense, and he was surprised to realize that he wasn’t far off from growling. It was always a little overwhelming to be around the Mage, but usually if there were no omegas present Simon was fine; now, it was all he could do to hold back the need to fight.

There was something about the man that put Simon on alert—that registered as a threat to his omega, even if Baz was a quarter of a mile away and still tucked up in bed.

“Sorry, things didn’t really go to plan.”

“Clearly not, but it seems like you might’ve found something else?” An amused smile twitched around the Mage’s mouth as he spoke, his nose lifting into the air, _scenting_ him.

_He can smell Baz._

“I just figured I should come here and well…uh…tell you face to face that the job didn’t work out. And see how I can clear my debt,” Simon said.

“Debt? Let’s not describe it as a debt. I’ve liked to think of myself as your mentor. Just trying to help you reach your potential. And if you couldn’t do the job, well…”

The tension in Simon’s body should’ve eased at the Mage’s words but instead it only wound tighter. The Mage’s voice might’ve been kind and fatherly, but Simon could smell a rising excitement from the other alpha—a _satisfaction_.

Yet again Simon had walked himself into a nightmare. But if he kept his calm, maybe his luck would hold and he’d still walk out. His eyes darted around the room, looking for paths to the exit, but all of them would take him past the Mage. And fleeing now would take him right back to where he’d been. Simon needed this over with.

“I’d rather hoped that you might be the one to take over for me one day,” the Mage said.

There was a time when those words would’ve meant something to Simon—part of his heart still lurched at hearing them—but they didn’t feel right.

“Take over how?”

“Running Watford of course. You’re like me. I’ve always seen you like that. You’re strong, and you won’t let an obstacle stop you—you’ll just push all the harder. You’re special. But, well…”

“I’m not sure I’m cut out for Watford. I couldn’t even join a real guild.”

“But you found the right one. The others are just for show. They’re for rich dilettantes who want to play at power, or for their bootlickers. The only one that actually has power is the Thief’s Grave. And you found it all on your own. I couldn’t have been prouder when Shelagh told me that you’d joined.”

Fire and ice were warring in Simon’s veins, the dread combatting the drive of his instincts. 

“I’ve appreciated all of your help over the years, but I want to get free of the guild and those sorts of jobs.”

The other alpha smiled, the friendly gesture undercut by the sharpness of his eyes.

“Well, no matter. If you really want to be free, I have something you could do for me. Consider it your final obligation and then we can part amicably.”

“If it’s stealing anything more from the Grimms or the Pitches, I can’t do it.”

“No, of course not. I understand. Really it’s just a few spells I’ve been trying to conduct, but I’m afraid I haven’t had enough power. You’ll just be something like a well for me. That’s all.”

Simon’s dread had escalated to full on panic, but he didn’t know how to say no. The Mage had ties to everything in Watford, and it was almost certain that Shelagh had told the Mage about Baz; Simon could live with being run out of town or hunted down, but there was no way he could risk the Mage ruining Baz’s life, or Penny’s.

“If that’s all…”

Shoulders aching, Simon rose up from his seat and walked towards the Mage.

  
  


  
  



	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter today, but it's some Baz & Penny 
> 
> Also, not all of the last chapter got pasted in when I was posting last week, so if you read it earlier in the day (or if you remember the chapter ending mid-conversation) you can now find the rest of it there
> 
> As ever, thank you for following along with the fic and for the comments

“Where’s Simon?” Bunce demanded, red-faced and out of breath. She shoved past Baz to get into the room.

“Good morning to you as well.”

She glared, her gaze bouncing around the empty room before finally landing back on him.

“Where is he?”

“I’m afraid I woke up to him gone.” A sharp bitterness flooded Baz’s tongue with the words.

After everything that had happened, he’d begun to think there might be some future for him and Simon. Baz had never in his life felt so taken care of—so  _ seen. _ His family had lists of rules that were supposed to be for his protection, although really it was all so he could be punted off into a corner and ignored. But even with their rocky start, Simon had quietly had his back when it was needed.

When they’d come back to the room, it had felt like it meant something. But moments ago, Baz had woken up to cold sheets and just the faint lingering smell of Simon and sex. All of his hopes had shattered around him, reminding him of what happened when he let himself  _ have _ hope.

Penny spun that damn ring of hers, the purple stone catching the morning light as her eyes and the twist of her mouth turned frantic.

“What is it, Bunce?”

The sooner Baz dealt with her, the sooner he could go back to bed and wallow.

_ Get yourself together, man. Simon wasn’t the goal. _

Whatever happened with Simon, Baz still had a name and a description to go on. He could find his mother’s killer himself if need be. It would be fine— _ he _ would be fine.

“I think I know who that workshop belonged to.”

“What?”

“Yeah. I ran into my mum this morning, and she had some information. She really didn’t want to talk about anything to do with that time—I don’t think she would’ve told me that she’d even had a workspace out there if I hadn’t guessed—but she let a few details slip. And it’s huge. And Simon’s definitely in danger. And, oh gods, why isn’t he here?”

Baz held up one hand to stem the onslaught of words.

“You’re babbling. Tell me exactly what you found out. And why Simon’s in danger.”

Penny reared back, her brown eyes blinking behind her glasses and a flush rising up her neck and into her cheeks, but she did take a shaky breath.

“The Mage. My mum said the Mage was out there as well. And that he was doing work no one else was comfortable with. Apparently he was going by a different name then—can you really picture him as a Davy?—but it makes so much sense that he was the one to be doing banned spells out there. Why else would he send Simon after your mum’s notes?”

“Davy?”

Penny nodded oblivious to the arctic chill that was sweeping through every fibre of Baz’s body.

“Did Simon know about that?” he asked, his voice deadly quiet.

Had the trip to his guild and to the vampires just been for show? Had Simon known this whole time? 

When Baz actually pulled himself out of the fog of pheromones that had been hounding him since he met Simon, it actually made sense. Enough sense that he could only wonder how he’d been such an oblivious idiot. Simon must’ve thought him a fool as he’d watched Baz weep over that letter he’d found.

“Of course not. Simon’s the last person to know anything. And, he wouldn’t be able to keep something like this to himself.”

Baz wanted so terribly to believe her. He wanted it down to the bottom of his chest and the tips of his fingers, but he wasn’t sure he was capable of that sort of faith. He pulled out the letter and thrust it at Penny.

She skimmed it quickly before looking up at him, eyes wide and lip trembling.

“If Simon hasn’t gone to warn the Mage, then where is he?” Baz said.

Penny shook her head, shoving the letter back into his hand.

“That’s what I was trying to find out from you. Where is Simon? If the Mage finds him and he starts to talk about what you found, he’s as good as dead. We need to find him immediately.”

Through the crash of hurt, the sharp keening loss of waking to find himself abandoned by his alpha, Baz could almost see the sense in her words. He looked around the room, searching for some sign that he could trust his instincts, but his gaze kept settling back onto the rumpled bed.

It was too much for him to trust someone he’d known less than a week, someone with whom his connection had been almost entirely physical.

Except, hadn’t it been more? In the tunnels under the workshop, they’d had to work together—to save each other—and Simon had offered up his blood with no questions asked. Baz could still feel echoes of the reverent way Simon had touched him, the drugging kisses that had felt like they transcended the physical.

_ A load of sentimental omega bullshit. You’re better than that. _

But Baz still turned to Penny.

“Why do you think he’d leave?”

The two stared at each other and Baz was certain Bunce was seeing through to all of the messy thoughts tearing through him.

“What happened last night? Did you learn anything that he might’ve gone to check out?”

Baz quickly recapped the previous evening, leaving out everything after they’d left the Bloody Lamb. With each detail Penny’s small frame grew more tense, her fingers working at her ring until Baz wondered if she had calluses on that finger.

“You went to see Shelagh?” Penny said, a look of nausea stamped across her face and her voice thin. “Are you even sure that he chose to leave? Is it possible that someone took him?”

“Is it possible that someone came into the room while I was sleeping and was able to subdue Simon quickly enough that he didn’t make enough noise to wake me? Is that what you’re really asking me, Bunce?”

“Well clearly you were sleeping heavily enough not to notice that he left at all.”

“It’s been something of a trying week.”

“For us all. I can tell you, I’m looking forward to whenever it is you bugger off back to your posh school.” Penny turned away, her arms crossed over her chest while she glared down at the bed.

Baz could practically see the moment that she connected those particular dots. He was surprised that she hadn’t figured out what was between him and Simon earlier; at this point his blockers and suppressant were a joke anyway.

“Have you two…” He could hear her choke on her words. “Are you two mated now?”

“Do you really think I’d let myself be mated by that—”

Penny spun around, her ponytail whipping out, and she stared straight up at him.

“Are you two mated?” she said slowly.

“No.”

“But have you bonded?”

“Bunce,” Baz said, “I’m not sure that it’s any business of yours.”

“Except when it’s Simon—Simon whose alpha side is on a hair-trigger. Unbonded he was bad enough; the number of times I had to break up fights because Agatha was flirting with some beta or alpha.”

“Agatha? Wellbelove? What does she have to do with Simon?” Baz felt jealousy surge through him. It was ridiculous to think that he was Simon’s first, but just the thought of some other omega getting to scent him, getting to ride his knot, made Baz’s hackles raise.

Penny completely ignored his question.

“I should’ve noticed. I  _ did _ notice, but I just thought…” She pressed her hands against her eyes, rolling out her shoulders and sighed heavily. “If you and Simon have developed some sort of bond—if Simon views you in any way as his mate—he’s probably gone out to find the Mage.”

“Why would he do that?!”

“Why? Because Simon is an idiot. And he’s protective to a fault. Even without knowing about the Mage’s connection to your mum, he still knows that the Mage isn’t someone you want to cross. He probably went to try to square away the deal they made and make sure that you couldn’t get caught in any sort of crossfire.

“And since you went to the Thief’s Grave, the Mage definitely knows that the two of you are together. Shelagh talks a big game, but when it comes down to it she’ll pass on anything she thinks is valuable to the Mage.”

“Fuck.”

Baz could feel his heart, each beat heavy like a metronome marking how much time they were wasting. A hundred different plans raced their way into his muscles, but he stayed frozen.

A small hand, not as warm as Simon’s but still warmer than Baz, awkwardly thumped against his upper arm. This close, he could smell the calming beta pheromones under Bunce’s vanilla and lavender blocking lotion.

“Baz,” Penny said, her voice calm but brisk, “I’m going to need you to calm the fuck down. I have a plan, but you won’t be any use if you fall apart.”

Baz nodded, trying to remind himself to breathe; trying to remind himself that there was no way he should be allowing himself to crumble in front of  _ Penelope Bunce _ .

“Okay, where do we start?”

Penny’s expression was all teeth, her eyes glinting fiercely, and she’d finally stopped fiddling with her ring.

“We start where everyone goes when they need real information. We’re going to go find Shelagh and make her tell us where Simon is.”

“And she’s just going to tell us that?”

Penny’s smile grew even more vicious, and Baz wondered if he shouldn’t be a little afraid of her.

“I’ve been preparing for this ever since Simon got dragged into that guild. We’re going to  _ make _ her tell us.”

  
  
  



	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd hoped to post this yesterday morning, but my google doc kept telling me my access had expired 🤬 Haven't fixed it, but at least I found a work around so I can get the last of the chapters edited and up. This chapter is another short one, but it's some more Penny & Baz
> 
> Thanks as ever to all of the lovely people leaving comments! It really means so much ❤️

Baz had even less sense of his bearings on the second trip to the Thief’s Grave. Penny was just as bad as Simon, racing forward through the twists and turns of the route until Baz was hopelessly lost.

_ Needlessly, surely _ . If he actually thought about it, there was no reason for them to be moving this way—there  _ had  _ to be a more direct route—but when he asked Penny she’d just told him to shut up and then raced on ahead.

When at last they stood in front of the door, side by side, he heard the flutter of her pulse and out of the corner of his eye saw her start to reach for her damn ring.

“Bunce,” he said slowly, “how good are you at cards?”

She turned, tilting her head up to look at him, her brows furrowed over her glasses.

“What?”

“Are you any good at cards? I’m hoping that you’ll tell me you’re secretly an ace and that bluffing is your specialty, because right now you have all of the intimidation of a piece of paper left out in a rainstorm.”

Where had the Penny of twenty minutes ago gone? Baz was pretty sure he could bank on  _ that _ Penny to get his alpha back, but the timid bookish girl beside him looked like someone about to get chewed up.

Penny exhaled, the stray bits of hair that had come loose from her ponytail drifting away from her face. She nodded.

“Okay, I can do this.”

“You better, because this is our only plan. This was  _ your _ plan.”

With her spine straightened and her shoulders square, Penny walked to the door and banged her fist against the wood. As they waited for someone to come, he could see a little of that spirit coming back into her eyes.

It took several knocks, but finally the door swung open an inch to reveal a pair of bloodshot, angry eyes.

“Yes?” said a peevish voice. The eyes swung between Baz and Penny and narrowed. “ _ You _ . What do you want?”

“I’m here to talk to Shelagh,” Penny said. There was an almost imperceptible quaver to her voice, but Baz was impressed with her general tone. She managed just the right amount of imperiousness to make it clear that they were not to be ignored. They just might manage this.

“Go away.”

For a moment, Baz thought Penny would crumple under the rebuff, but instead her chin jerked up and he  _ felt _ the anger pouring out of her. A beta’s pheromones might’ve been lighter and less aggressive than an alpha’s, but that didn’t mean that they had  _ no _ instincts. He could smell a frustrated scent rolling off her. And, he realized, he could feel the shift and warp of magic as Penny started to pull it close.

It was subtle enough that the person behind the door might not notice, but it was still enough that Penny would be able to start casting in an instant. For the first time, Baz wondered if Penny wasn’t the more dangerous of her and Simon.

“We’ve come to see Shelagh. I suggest you go and get her,” Penny said as she kicked the door open another couple of inches.

A man’s narrow face crowded the doorway, and he locked his hand on the door to stop it moving any further.

“What do you think you’re playing at? I know you’re not stupid enough to try to break in here,” the man sputtered.

“Try me.”

“Shelagh’s not going to come down. Not for you. Not after…” The man eyed Baz suspiciously as he trailed off.

“She better come down, otherwise all of the nasty little secrets of this miserable guild are going to be spread all over Watford. Including those spells that you asked me about, John, the ones about animating clay to—”

The door swung open and the man lurched at Penny before she could finish her sentence. Baz grabbed the back of the man’s shirt, holding him back, but he almost considered letting him go; it might be worth it to see what Bunce would do to him when she was like this.

The man glared at Baz, his pinched face sallow in the morning light, and thrashed about trying to get free. Baz gave him a shake and let his fangs show for a half-second. It was quick enough that the man wouldn’t be quite sure what he saw,, but enough for his hind brain to recognize that Baz was an entirely different type of danger.

Baz hated to use his vampire traits in this way, but right now he didn’t care. He would use whatever sped this along—whatever got him to Simon quicker.

The man tensed under his grip and then his fight just drained away. Baz tossed him back against the door with a thump.

“You are going to do what we’ve asked,” Baz said. “And you’re going to do it  _ now.” _

The man nodded sullenly and then slipped back into the tavern, slamming the door after him and leaving Penny and Baz out on the steps.

“I’m not sure he’ll actually come back,” Penny said.

“No?”

“John has always been particularly spineless. There’s an even chance he’s scarpered for some bolt hole rather than risk whatever Shelagh will do to him.”

“And if he does?”

Penny reached into a pocket on her dress and pulled out a small package. It quickly opened up into a set of metal wires. She grabbed a couple and started to poke around at the lock on the door.

“Charming as that is, wouldn’t it be better for us to just use magic to get in?” Baz said, trying and failing to hide his impatience.

Penny’s fringe had slid across her face, and she pushed it out of the way to glare at him.

“Don’t take that tone with me,  _ Basilton _ . Simon is my friend, and I’m just as worried— _ more _ . There’s no way to enter this tavern with force. They’re prepared for any spells; generations of members have poured power into the wards. The only way in is something a little more low tech.”

“And don’t they have spells for that?”

She turned back to her task, her fingers working quick enough that he could see she’d done this more than just a few times.

“Who would be stupid enough to try to pick the locks of the Thief’s Grave?”

A second later she stood up, and when she turned the handle of the door it swung open easily. She didn’t waste any time; the picks went straight into her pocket and Bunce walked in, leaving Baz to follow.

Inside the tavern it was dark and quiet, the room smelling of old beer and tobacco. It only took a moment for Baz’s eyes to adjust, and what he saw was shockingly normal, with its long wooden bar top and sticky floor. It looked nothing like the headquarters of any of the other guilds—they all favoured offices that looked like somber temples to either money or magic—but he supposed the Thief’s Grave wasn’t like the other guilds.

Across the room they saw movement as John entered back into the bar. He froze, and Baz could smell his fear. Whatever blocking lotion the man used wasn’t working, and Baz was able to catch a wash of panicked beta pheromones; it was strong enough that he was certain Bunce caught the rancid smell as well.

“What are you doing in here? You’re supposed to be outside!”

“We got tired of waiting,” Baz drawled.

A crimson flush rose up into the man’s face and Baz caught a fine tremor buzzing through his limbs.

“Which one is Shelagh’s room? Or are you ready to go get her now?” Penny said.

John made a garbled choking noise and then spun on his heel and stormed off. They could hear his footsteps even after he’d left the room, until he clearly realized it was smarter to be mindful of the guild members sleeping than to voice his displeasure with Penny and Baz.

Above them, they heard the muted sound of voices, and then creaking as people moved about on the floor. Baz stared up at the ceiling, wishing he knew what would be coming next.

“What are the chances he’s just gone to grab as many people as he can to dispose of us?” Baz asked.

“Slim to none. John’s not well liked enough for the others to care, and so long as we’re not bothering  _ them _ …It should be fine.”

“Should?”

Baz was saved Penny’s response by the return of the scowling John, followed by Shelagh.

“I understand you want something from me?” Shelagh said. Her voice was thick with sleep, but there was still an undeniable edge to it. “I hope you’re prepared for the price.”

Penny drew back her shoulders and stared hard at Shelagh; it would have been an impressive display of bravado if Baz hadn’t caught movement where her hands were down by her side, her thumb twisting the ring.

“Where’s Simon?”

“I think before we talk information, we should discuss prices.”

“No. You are going to tell me where Simon is and then Baz and I will leave.”

There had been an almost indulgent smile on Shelagh’s face, but at Penny’s belligerent words it slid away.

“Penelope, you know the rules. Everything has a price—”

“And in exchange for you telling me where Simon is, I’m going to refrain from telling the Gundersons that it was the Koganes who hired an assassin from this guild to kill their patriarch.”

Shelagh’s expression grew hard and tight, but she only shrugged at Penny’s words.

“And,” Penny continued, “I’m going to let the Watch know who hired the guild to steal that shipment of Mummer’s Bark last month, just so that the price for summer pox cures could be kept high. And I’m going to let everyone know that your biggest patron is the Mage.”

“An inconvenience to say the least,” Shelagh said, though her voice belied her words. “But that’s all just hearsay. I’m afraid it won’t be enough for anything to be done.”

“No, it won’t be enough for the Watch to come after you, but it will be enough for the people of Watford to talk. I’m going to spill all of the names of any patron, any client, and while they might not get arrested, all of the discretion that you’ve prized will be gone. All of the secrecy that kept them coming to you for their terrible deeds, up in smoke. And they will all move on. And I dare say that a number of those clients will be rather upset to have everyone know what they engineered.”

“You won’t live to see tomorrow if you do that, girl,” Shelagh growled.

“It won’t matter. I mean it will to me, but the damage will still be done. And I’m offering you a choice right now. Tell me where the Mage has taken Simon, or I will set this corpse of a guild on fire.”

Baz was a little in awe of how steady Penny’s voice had stayed during her whole speech. Her gaze hadn’t wavered once, and she certainly looked like she was prepared to carry through on her threat—a threat that held a certain elegance. Cutting away all of the guild’s secrecy and their flow of coin was probably the one area that they were vulnerable, and Penny had found a single stroke that would accomplish both.

The two women stared each other down; around them all of the magic began to pool until the slightest of spells could’ve turned into an explosion. The air grew thick and dense, like the taste of a storm just off on the horizon, and Baz readied some spells. He doubted anything he could cast would be of much use, but it was better than just standing there like a prat.

“Where is Simon?”

Penny’s voice reverberated around the room, magic making it thick and resonant.

And then just like that, Shelagh dropped all of the power that had twined around her, letting it snap back to its original path, though some of it went straight to Penny. Penny staggered with the additional surge, but still managed to stay upright.

“If you go,” Shelagh said, suddenly looking weary in a way that had nothing to do with the early hour, “you need to kill  _ him _ . Because if I tell you, he’s certainly going to kill me. And whatever interest he has in that boy, I doubt he’ll live if you don’t stop the Mage. Permanently.”

“What’s his interest in Snow?” Baz couldn’t hold himself back.

“There are some secrets that have far more value than a bit of goodwill and coin. If you don’t know about Lucy then I’m not going to be the one to tell you.”

“Lucy?”

Red spots burned in Shelagh’s face and she cursed viciously, but Baz got the strangest impression that was more for show.

“You’ll find your boy at the Mage’s workshop over in the Chapel district. It’s at the far corner of the old cemetery garden. The building beside the weeping child. I suggest you hurry.”

Baz nodded and grabbed hold of Penny’s shoulder. A jolt of power coursed up his arm, his hands going numb, and he quickly let go.

“Bunce, release that and let’s go.”

She was looking ashen—the only person who could hold that much power at any one time was Simon—and the moment the power snapped back, she swayed.

Shelagh smirked a little before she sauntered out of the room, lifting one hand up over her shoulder in a wave.

“Good luck.”

Those words were filled with a nasty despair that reminded Baz that they needed to go right  _ now. _

Gritting his teeth against any lingering power, Baz grabbed Penny’s wrist and dragged her towards the door. He knew exactly which building Shelagh was talking about—it wasn’t far from where his mother was buried. It would take them at least ten minutes to get to the Chapel district, and then maybe another five to get to the cemetery. Baz hoped that Simon could hold out that long.

  
  



	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had some vacation time to use up and so my beta reader decided to have a nerdcation, which meant that we both had to time to get an extra chapter edited this week.
> 
> Thank you to those leaving comments and all of the people who've been following along! Into the final stretch now.

Of all the areas in Watford, Simon had spent the least time in the Chapel district. During his first few months in Watford, he’d wandered through the district as a matter of course—he’d been intent on learning every inch of his new home—but the empty area had little to offer for an adventurer trying to earn his rent and supper.

Trailing along behind the Mage, Simon had time to remember how beautiful it was. All around them, buildings stretched up as memorials to forgotten gods. There were a small number of the chapels and devotional houses that were still in use on the high days, but most stood empty. Rather than tearing down or repurposing any of the buildings after a certain god or cult had fallen out of favour, the people of Watford chose to just leave the buildings to crumble. It gave the area a crowded feel, the ornate swoops and peaks of a hundred years ago butting right up against the angular lines currently in fashion and the spare blocky designs of five hundred years ago.

It was an area that felt preternaturally silent, in the same way as that second of absolute silence before something vicious attacked in the underground. It made Simon’s ears feel dull and his skin crawl. He wasn’t sure if it was all of the worn statues gazing out on them, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

_ Not long _ , he promised himself. They would reach their destination soon, Simon would help the Mage with this final task, and then he would be free. He could return back to where he’d left Baz in bed and start to figure out the rest of his life. He’d let Penny come up with one of her charts and he’d make a list, and they’d somehow figure out what he could do to get off the rat wheel and be able to take a breath.

The Mage opened a waist high iron gate and walked into a small cemetery. After Simon followed him in, the Mage nodded at the gate and Simon closed it after them, paint flaking away onto his hand.

It didn’t take long for them to cross the cemetery; it was more like a small park, with a smooth stretch of emerald lawn and short lilac trees clustered in spots, the purple blooms filling the air with scent. Simon would’ve expected to feel some twinge of wild magic, but everything here was as orderly as if it was an Old Family parlour. Someone had been pouring spells and magic into this plot until it had been tamed into submission, and as soon as he saw the names on the scattered headstones he understood––only Old Families were buried here.

At the far side of the cemetery, the Mage veered around the lilacs towards a cluster of yew trees and a small shed. Though, of course, the shed was far nicer than most of the homes in some of the poorer districts. Butting up against its crisp white walls and neat shingles was one of the oldest chapels Simon had seen yet.

What might once have been ornate carving around the corners and edges had faded and rounded into wobbly lines and growths along the stone. The top was low and pointy in a style Simon hadn’t seen around Watford before, and if the patina of green that crawled up along the sides was anything to go by, it was one of the oldest chapels he’d seen yet. 

Maybe it was the precise and well kept shed beside it, but the old chapel had an air of kept neglect. Like it had only been waiting for a time, rather than truly abandoned.

“What’s that place?” Simon said, his voice sounding odd in the quiet of the cemetery.

The Mage barely spared a glance at it, instead pulling out a set of keys and setting about unlocking the door to the shed.

“The chapel.”

“The chapel? Like for the cemetery?”

Simon wondered why the Old Families would choose one so run-down for their dead. He couldn’t even feel any particular power pooled within. He supposed that power wouldn’t be of much use to the dead, but it still felt odd.

The Mage pushed the door open and gestured with one hand for Simon to go in first. He tried not to flinch as he walked past the Mage; they were close enough that he could smell the sharp scent of the other alpha’s pheromones. The smell caught at the back of his throat and made his nose itch; it was a pleased sort of scent that put Simon even more on edge.

“The chapel comes from long before the cemetery was ever here. It was merely a convenient plot of land for the Old Families to use. Attractive enough. Far enough from the plot out on the edge of town where all of the peasants are sent. I suppose they liked the idea of knowing that even in death they could still be far removed from the rabble.

“You know, Simon, you and I are really quite similar.”

As the Mage spoke, he followed Simon into the shed, his voice a reminder of how close he was. Simon’s back ached, his muscles screaming for him to do something as he felt the Mage’s gaze on the back of his neck. Even in the dark of the shed, the spill of light from the doorway only just illuminating the entrance, Simon was certain the Mage could see him.

“How d’you figure?”

“Both of us come from nothing, but we outstrip even the best of the Old Families. We’re proof that all of their generations of consolidating wealth and power, of shaping the rules so they can always win, mean nothing. That adversity only sharpens us. If you hadn’t grown up in that home, if you hadn’t fought your way to the top, would you be the person you are today? Would you be as strong as you are?”

“If I could’ve traded my power to know where my next meal was coming from, or to have people who—” Simon caught himself. The emotions he normally kept walled away threatened to break through; a dam he knew better than to break. “What do you need me to do?”

The Mage snapped his fingers and a series of tapers all around the room burst into flame. It was an impressive trick, if only for the control and power it would require to light so many—Simon would’ve set the whole room on fire if he’d attempted it, and while Penny certainly had the control, her power would only extend to three candles at the most.

“It’s not even what you’ll do for me, it’s what I’ll do for you. I’ve been trying to look after you, Simon. In my own way, I like to think I’ve been a mentor to you. There’s so much potential that you hold, but I can feel you choking on it.”

“No. No, I’m fine thanks. I just need our debt to be cleared, and then I’m going.”

“Ever since you showed up at the Mummer’s House, rattling around Watford trying to make something of yourself, I thought maybe there was a chance that you could be exactly what I hoped. Every challenge I gave you was met, but somehow you weren’t quite blooming the way you needed.”

The Mage walked across the room, stopping only at the small table in the centre of the room to grab a book that was falling apart at the spine, a candle, and a goblet. With the items tucked under his arm, he continued to the small red door on the opposite wall. He fished around in one pocket and pulled out a key. Even in the flickering candlelight, Simon recognized the material in a visceral, stomach curdling way—the key was made of  _ bone _ .

Once the door was unlocked and open, the Mage turned to glance back over his shoulder at Simon.

“Well?”

Simon took one reluctant step after the other and followed the Mage through the door. The other side was chill, lit torches spread around a hollowed out chapel. Any sign of icons or relics had long been stripped from the space, and while the internal carvings had fared a little better than the exterior, they were still worn. The walls must’ve once been bright with paintings, but they had all faded to vague smudges of letters and faces stained with smoke.

“Do you like it?” the Mage asked, his gaze locked on Simon’s face.

Around him, Simon could feel magic starting to swirl and pool, bending its way towards them. In a place like this, it should’ve felt bright and sharp, but instead Simon was surprised to recognize the almost soothing way this magic was sweeping towards him—eager to be used. 

“Why is there underground magic here?” he asked, his voice betraying his panic.

“Underground magic? Well, I suppose in some ways it is. It certainly thrives best in underground places where it can feed on the most chaotic of wild magic. Above ground like this, it has to be carefully cultivated. Where did you find it before?”

Simon’s brain was growing too warm, his thoughts fuzzy as the sinuous pull of the magic tried to weave itself through him. Heat pressed up under his skin and he wanted to scrape his nails over the glands at his neck and wrist until he could tear through and release some of the building pressure. Pain swirled through his temples, focussing into sharp points. Simon did what he could to suppress his groan, pressing his fist against his mouth, but the noise still leaked out.

“Oh,” the Mage said, “like is recognizing like. This might be easier than I thought.”

“What’s happening to me?”

“We’re just unlocking your potential, Simon. I thought for a while that you were just broken—unfixable—but when the Grimm-Pitch boy started sniffing around and I heard all about your hunt through the docks for him, I realized the fundamental flaw in all my theories. I didn’t even need Natasha’s work to figure it out. I’d always treated secondary gender as well…secondary. One of those biases the Old Family liked to use to maintain their stranglehold, but ultimately irrelevant. And then I realized, of course, why wouldn’t pair bonding be the final key that I missed? The thing that could unlock everything? It’s common knowledge that a bonded alpha will be capable of drawing more power to protect their mate, so why not store it?”

The Mage’s words were barely registering for Simon. Instead they were just bouncing around, the sound distorted, making his molars and jaw ache.

“What’s going on? I don’t understand.”

Desperately he stared ahead, focusing on a single spot on the wall and hoping that the world would stop spinning. He tried to focus on the swirl and spike of text and the grimacing faces instead of the nausea burning at his throat.

“I hadn’t expected my preparations to be this effective. But don’t worry, I’ll be able to finish up the spells soon, and then it will all stop. You’ll be fine. You’ll be  _ better _ .”

Simon heard the Mage walk across the dusty stone, setting down each of his items with a soft thump, but Simon didn’t dare look away from the wall. He tracked the twist of the letters, searching for some pattern.

_ Abyssal. _

This time when his stomach churned and bile tore a path up his chest, Simon gave into the need to retch, and emptied his stomach out onto the floor. It did nothing to make him feel better, but the small noise of disgust from the Mage was something at least.

“The workshop was yours. The one with the altar and the bones,” Simon whispered, finally pulling his gaze away from the wall and over to where the Mage had the book open in front of him.

Simon’s stomach churned again as he caught the coppery smell of blood and saw the dark stained channel that ran away from the long table in front of the Mage. A different room, another altar, but Simon was certain it was for the same purposes.

“You found my space then? I rather miss it. I’m a little surprised that you managed so well against the failures that I left behind. I suppose it would’ve been smart to collapse the tunnel and destroy the room, but I guess we can chalk that up to vanity. It’s hard to destroy a space where one felt happy.”

“Happy?” Simon spat out.

The Mage just shook his head and gave Simon a fond smile. It was the same smile he’d given Simon any number of times, one that had made Simon feel like maybe he’d finally found a father-like figure in the Mage. To see it now brought another surge of bile, and Simon doubled over, collapsing to his hands and knees as his stomach heaved.

When he’d finally finished, his body brittle and mouth foul, Simon looked up at where the Mage had joined him. White shirt cuffs had been unbuttoned and rolled up over broad golden wrists, revealing the Order’s mark, and at the open collar of the shirt Simon was able to see the start of script matching the Abyssal written all around them. His gaze landed on the Mage’s green eyes.

Everything clicked in an inevitable way—a way that made Simon feel foolish and naive, and likely the last to know something that must’ve been obvious to anyone else.

“Why did you kill Natasha Grimm-Pitch?” Simon croaked.

Again the Mage smiled, and the bastard even looked a little sad around the corners of his eyes.

“Because it was the only way. She was the key to gaining Watford—no one could ever truly take control of this town so long as she was here. I  _ tried _ to get her to understand what I was doing, but she had no interest in magic that would benefit the masses. And of course—too clever by half, just like that Bunce whelp—she went out to the workshop. By then I’d moved on, returned here, but there was more than enough left for her to figure out what I’d been doing. Then it was a matter of taking care of the necessary. You understand, of course.”

“How could I understand?”

Simon was burning alive, his body radiating heat; he expected to see his skin sloughing off or to look down and see bubbling flesh and char, but there was nothing.

“You’re just like me, Simon. Just think of all of those jobs you took for me—think of the cult leader you beheaded so that others would be freed. Think of the…”

The Mage’s mouth kept moving, but Simon had stopped hearing the words. A great buzzing filled his head, and there was pressure right up against his ear drum like he was at the bottom of a deep lake. His vision started to go spotty, the Mage’s face going in and out of focus.

Then Simon watched as the Mage dipped one finger into his goblet. When he pulled his finger out it was coated in a dark, vicious red, smelling of blood. The Mage pressed his finger against Simon’s forehead and began to draw shapes. 

_ Write them. He’s writing. _

At first, Simon could feel the shape of the words as a brilliant point of ice against the inferno sweeping through him, but then they began to blaze even hotter. It was like a brand was being pressed against his skin, and the Mage only kept going.

Finally, Simon felt the pain and the heat overwhelm him and everything went dark.

***

Simon thought that he might’ve been out for seconds or centuries. When he finally awoke, his limbs felt as though weights had been tied around them and the world had been remade into one of heat. He’d never been much aware of his own scent, but now his tongue was coated with the taste of ashes and the back of throat stung with smoke.

All around him, magic was strung like a web, everything tracing back to him.

It took almost no effort, just a curious flex of one finger, and Simon felt the ripple of magic moving through him and out. A bolt of light arched across the chapel, lighting up the words on the walls.

Where before Simon had felt a bone deep aversion to them––to the whole room––now he felt like he’d finally settled into his own skin. It was the first long stretch after waking up, or the first wave of heat sinking into a bath. It was a release; an exquisite feeling of finally being able to just let go.

“It worked, didn’t it?”

Simon turned towards the voice. Hurt sparked through him and drifted out from his chest to fall through his body, lodging itself into his muscle and sinew. Normally Simon would’ve tried to push it down––to move on, to think things through––but that part of him had been burnt away.

He pushed himself up off one knee, and it wasn’t until he was standing that he realized that the heaviness was gone. Instead he was left with muscles that wanted to move. When he glanced down at one hand and flexed, he watched his nails push out into talons. Another flex and they retracted; flex again and there they were coming to a vicious point.

Without thinking he pressed one talon to his other palm and watched as blood began to well up along a vivid red line.

Simon wondered why he didn’t feel it; he knew he should be feeling something from the cut that was now bleeding in earnest, but it was like all of that had been shut down. Instead there was a fierce itch around his temples and a pulse in his glands, desperate need rising up in his body. His mind filled with the image of grey eyes and black hair, of sharp teeth and cold skin.

_ Where is Baz? _

That thought traced a loop through Simon until he thought he would see it scrawled across his skin. He needed his omega. He needed his mate. Needed to know that he was alright. Needed to make sure that he was—Simon’s gaze caught on the Mage again.

Those green eyes were locked on him, bright and delighted. Simon felt them sweep over him, raking along his skin and pausing on his talons and his temples. A broad smile curved across the Mage’s tanned face.

_ Pride. He’s feeling  _ pride, Simon realized.

“What did you do to me?” Simon’s voice sounded different—distant and distorted.

He reached up towards his temples and the burning itch that was there. His body shuddered at the feel of his fingers sliding across the skin, and he was dimly aware of an arousal that was starting to build. When his fingers brushed up against a bump poking up out of the skin, nearly hidden in his curls, Simon felt the touch as a jolt all the way down the centre of his body. Blood rushed south and he could feel his cock start to harden.

What was wrong with him? He shouldn’t have been this bad. He’d never been this bad. Where was Baz?

“What did you do to me?”

The Mage stood for a moment, contemplating Simon with his silent delight, and then he turned back towards the table.

“What did you do to me?” Simon’s voice rose so that it filled the room, but the Mage still didn’t turn around. Instead, he leafed through his book until he’d reached the desired page. There were a few small bowls that had been set up on the table with spell components, and Simon watched as the Mage scooped spoonfuls of grey and purple powders into the goblet.

“What did you  _ do _ to me?”

Finally the Mage turned around, the goblet in his hand. His smile had begun to dim and he looked frustrated.

“Simon, I made you better. Better than some run of the mill mage. Better than a dime-a-dozen dockyard alpha. You are strength and power. Just think of what you and I can do to fix this city. We’ll start with the Old Families. Those that won’t join us, we’ll grind down, and then we can make this a town that truly understands what it means to respect power.”

Simon’s thoughts tumbled around together, but through the chaos he pictured the Bunces. They would never join the Mage—they might not disagree with wanting to break the class divide that strangled Watford, but they still wouldn’t work with him. And Penny…with what Penny knew about the Mage and what she’d be able to piece together, she’d never agree. Agatha, of course, would want nothing to do with any of it.

And Baz…

Panic buzzed through Simon’s veins until his body hummed with it.

Where was Baz?

“You can’t. I won’t help.” Even those few words were a challenge for Simon. His world was starting to tilt and he could feel everything sliding toward one corner of his mind, fire and smoke waiting to finally consume everything that hadn’t already burned away.

“That’s truly disappointing, Simon. I thought that my mentorship meant something to you. I thought you’d be grateful that I finally freed you from your shackles. For so long I’ve watched you struggle against them. I despaired that you would ever be good enough to raise yourself up to my side—to be my heir—but then…well…”

The Mage set the goblet back down, then reached into one of the bowls. He picked up a pinch of a fine black powder and began to rub it between his palms. Energy, dark and sinuous like the underground magic, rose up. With a flick of the Mage’s hand and a muttered word, Simon felt something grab hold of his arms and drag him down to the floor. He turned his head and saw thick ropes made of that black dust and the underground magic.

The Mage picked up the goblet again and walked over to Simon. He crouched down and grabbed him by the hair to lift his head up.

“This will make it all better. It’s the final stage to fix you. I suppose it’s my fault you’re so broken, but I’m fixing you now. Soon, you won’t have to worry about the omega, or the Bunce girl.”

The goblet was cold against Simon’s lip and he could smell its contents, both noxious and tempting. His stomach was tightening, bile starting to rise again, but there was a part of him that was demanding he drink—the fire  _ craved _ whatever was swirling through the crimson liquid.

Simon was being pulled in a thousand different directions. The magic that flooded the room was poking at him, trying to pour itself into him; the goblet was tilting, the liquid sliding closer to the edge and into his mouth; his body was on fire and about to burst apart; the ropes kept tightening, pulling him closer and closer to the ground; and most of all the Mage’s words about Baz kept twisting and turning, shredding him up and leaving him in tatters.

If Penny was here, or Baz, either of them would’ve known what to do. They would’ve had hundreds of spells to use––if the roles were reversed, he didn’t doubt that they’d be able to save him––but as usual Simon was alone and adrift. All he could do was let go.

He gathered up all of his memories of Baz and Penny—the feel of Baz’s cool body pressed up against him; the way he could be so sharp with his words and then soft in Simon’s arms; Penny’s endless patience with him; the way she didn’t realize she played with her ring when she was nervous—and Simon let go of the last of his walls. He allowed the magic in the room to finally bind itself to his own.

The ropes went slack as he took control of the magic just as the liquid hit his mouth. Simon’s world went a blinding white.

  
  



	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh, thank you to everybody who left comments on the last chapter!! It honestly makes my day ❤️❤️❤️

From across the cemetery, Baz could feel the heat shimmering off the old chapel, tendrils of magic wrapping around it like overrun ivy. His heartbeat was a deafening thud in his ears as he ran over the lawn towards the building.

Penny ran straight to the door of the attached cottage and grabbed hold of the heavy iron door, but Baz didn’t follow her. He could  _ feel _ where Simon was, and it wasn’t in the cottage.

“This way,” Baz called as he veered around the side of the chapel towards the front doors.

“But Shelagh said—” Penny started to say, but cut herself off and followed him.

As they ran alongside the chapel, dust sifted down and Baz could hear the heavy stones groaning. Whatever was happening inside the chapel was going to bring it down. Baz lengthened his stride; he needed to get to Simon  _ now _ .

The moment his palm hit the broad door handle, he felt magic surge into him. It was warm and familiar in the exact same way as Simon’s scent, and the swell of it pouring into his own magic was like the first moment of rain after a hot spell, absorbed gratefully and instantly. Dotted all through it was the same magic he and Simon had felt all through the underground workshop.

Wide-eyed, Baz turned to Penny.

“Why is there underground magic here?”

Penny’s face went ashen and she swallowed hard.

“There’s no such thing as underground magic. After what happened to Simon and I before...I looked it up. Wild magic is wild magic and it’s not supposed to change, regardless of where it might be found. The only thing I could find was that in some places underground, demons have been able to push their power through.”

“And you never thought to mention that to Simon?”

Baz’s head buzzed with her words, all of the implications landing like solid blows on his body.

He yanked the door open and a rush of hot air washed over them. Mere steps into the chapel and Baz could feel a prickle of sweat along his hairline, his shirt clinging to his back.

Across the nave, Baz saw Simon in restraints on the ground, the Mage leaning over him. Pain and rage—everything he’d been holding back for nearly two decades—rose up, stealing his breath and freezing him where he stood.

Baz didn’t have to even think before he started to pull at his power to ready a spell. He opened himself up to the magic, letting it run through him.

With his fingertips extended, Baz readied himself to let the spell fly. He was barely aware of what spell it was, just that the Mage was doing something to his alpha and needed to be stopped. Permanently. But before he could whisper the final syllable of the incantation, the room shifted.

A surge of power blew out from Simon and the Mage like a tidal wave and all of the torches went out, sending the room into a grey darkness.

“Simon?” Penny called out, her voice panicky and high. “Are you okay? Baz, what happened?”

Baz struggled to breathe through the taste of smoke and the haze of heat; he didn’t know how Bunce expected him to speak—didn’t know how she was  _ able _ to speak. Around them debris was falling, and Baz could feel how precarious the building was; after whatever had happened, it  _ wanted _ to tumble down.

Blinking away the spots dancing in front of his eyes, Baz raced down the main aisle of the chapel. His vision was starting to adjust to the strange dark, but not nearly quick enough. By the time he’d reached the spot where Simon and the Mage had been, Baz could see greyish shapes, but nothing that looked like either of the two alphas.

He stumbled as he walked forward, only to realize that the blast had torn up the floor. Tiles were shattered, some smashed to nothing and others pushed up like the earth beneath them had heaved. Baz spun around, his sight settling into finer and finer detail. The columns nearby had fractures running through them, spidery veins that trembled with the groans of the building, and splinters of wood were everywhere. But where was Simon?

Dimly, Baz was aware of Penny still calling Simon’s name, but it was just another part of the white noise—every detail that could be put under the category of Not Simon.

A figure propped up against a column caught his eye, and Baz launched himself towards it. Only once he stood over the legs splayed out at broken angles and the dull green eyes staring vacantly into the dark did he realize that it wasn’t Simon.

It should have been relief that he felt staring down at the lifeless body of the Mage. If he was dead, then their problems were over—both Simon and Watford would be safe, and Baz could pretend that this counted as some sort of justice for his mother—but he felt nothing.

His gaze swung back out around the room, scouring the rubble and shadows. He ran over to anything that looked like the shape of a person only to have his hopes crash around him. With each disappointment his heartbeat sped up until he thought his wrists should be shaking with the force of it.

“Baz!” Penny called from the far edge. She was leaning into a raised alcove meant for a statue or relic, her hands braced against the wall and dust falling onto her shoulders and hair.

He didn’t need to hear anything more. From the fear in that one word he knew that she’d found Simon. 

When Baz reached her side he saw Simon slumped against the back of the alcove. Baz could smell blood, fresh and warm; could feel the near-excruciating warmth of Simon’s magic flowing in and out of him like breath. There was no difference between the power in the room and Simon’s—it was  _ all _ Simon’s.

“Is he breathing? I don’t think he’s breathing?”

“Bunce, he’ll be fine. It’s faint but I can definitely hear it,” Baz said, not adding that the amount of blood staining Simon’s hair and running down his neck was a far greater problem. “I’m going to see if I can move him down, and then we need to get out of here.”

She nodded and moved to the side, fingers back to her ring and teeth worrying at her bottom lip.

Baz grabbed hold of the edge of the alcove and lifted himself up. He landed inelegantly, sprawled across Simon’s legs. Even through the layers of clothes between them, the heat was nearly unbearable.

The alcove was small enough that Baz had to crawl forward, his knees on either side of Simon’s legs, until he hovered over Simon’s lap. He reached out to cup Simon’s cheek. Up close, Simon looked even worse. His face was drawn, remnants of dried blood flaking away, and around his temples something had pushed up through the skin. Tentatively, he brushed his thumb across the swollen skin, feeling where it gave way to smooth bone curving slightly upwards towards a point. At his touch, light as it was, Baz felt Simon shudder beneath him, his breath coming out in a rush and the enticing smell of smoke stretching out to Baz.

Between Simon’s scent and the blood, Baz was growing dizzy. He pressed his other hand against Simon’s shoulder, trying to steady himself, but instead felt himself melt. The muscles in his legs started to tremble until finally he sank down onto Simon’s lap, his hands clawing into Simon’s shirt and hair.

Simon’s eyes snapped open and for a split second his pupils were vertical before they expanded, the blue consumed by black. His hands reached for Baz’s waist and pulled him close until Baz could feel the hardening length of Simon’s cock against the curve of his ass. Baz’s response was near immediate, his own cock hardening. When he rocked forward, he felt the vibrations of Simon’s groan like it was his own and his need sharpened to a fine point.

“Now is not the bloody time for that,” Penny snarled from outside the alcove.

Rationally, Baz knew she was right. He could feel the tremors as the chapel fell apart around them, but Baz’s body didn’t care. All that mattered was the desperate ache, the way Simon stretched up towards him, and the blazing heat as his mouth was claimed.

Baz didn’t know where the willpower came from, but he pulled himself free with a gasp. Simon leaned forward, his lips chasing after Baz as his soft sounds of need made Baz want to sink back against him. But one of them had to be sensible, and it seemed that Baz was the designated one.

“Simon, are you okay?” Baz whispered.

Those rough hands, that had always held Baz so carefully, clenched against his hips, and Baz heard Simon’s gasping breath—the catch and the near sob. Gently, he brushed his hand against Simon’s temples, pushing the matted hair away from the horns. Simon inhaled sharply at the fleeting touch, and Baz felt the twitch of the alpha’s cock.

“What the hell is going on?”

Baz looked over his shoulder just in time to see Penny halfway through hauling herself up. His reaction was instinctive, pressing back against Simon and hissing at the intruder. She froze to sniff the air before she shook her head.

“Oh gods no. You…Simon isn’t in a rut, right? Shit.  _ Shit.” _ Penny said, her waist still balanced against the ledge as a series of expressions crossed her face. Confusion, disbelief, concern. 

“Oh, this is bad,” Penny said as she started to clamber up again.

“You need to stay away.”

“What?”

“Just…don’t come up here.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Something’s happening to you too—Simon’s in rut, or about to go into one, and an omega is hardly the one to handle that. This building is about to come down and we need to get out of here.”

“I said, don’t come up here.”

His words echoed off the stone, sharp and panicked. Below him, he could feel Simon’s growl, the alpha’s pheromones changing to a sharper, more aggressive scent. Magic was starting to gather, and already Baz could see sparks forming all through the chapel, the cracks in the walls widening.

Baz pulled himself back up, struggling to the edge of the alcove.

“Simon, we’ve got to go. Can you get up?” he said.

He wrapped his hand around one of Simon’s wrists and tried to tug him. Simon’s black eyes turned to him, but there was no sign of any comprehension.

When Baz let himself down, his legs collapsing under him so he sank to the floor, Simon finally moved. His motions were jerky, but he crawled down from the alcove and knelt down in front of Baz. Warm arms wrapped around Baz, pulling him close, and then he felt Simon’s breath against his neck, his lips against the gland there. Pleasure spilled out at the feel of Simon gently mouthing the swollen skin, and Baz’s body went tight.

Magic poured from Simon into Baz and he became aware of the pattern of magic that was sprawled out around them like stars across the night sky. It was beautiful and endless, and far too much to bear.

A crash sounded from somewhere nearby and Baz heard Penny sob.

He tried to rise up to his feet, but the weight of Simon’s magic—of all of the magic in the chapel—was too great; it was pinning them in place.

“Whatever the Mage did to him, it’s too much power for him to hold,” Baz said to Penny. Over Simon’s shoulder, he could see her frightened expression and the way she shook with every crash and rumble of falling stone.

She nodded and stepped close, though she kept her hands up and made a show of not reaching for either of them. It was silly for Baz to worry about that at a moment like this, but he felt a surge of gratitude.

“Simon,” she said, her voice soft and pleading, “Simon you’ve got to let it go. Whatever the Mage did, whatever power he forced into you, it’s okay to just let go. It doesn’t have to be yours.”

Against his neck, Baz could feel Simon’s tears, but the magic didn’t dissipate at all.

“Please. Just let it go. Think of what we’ve been working on—just…turn it off.” Penny’s face was shiny with tears as she spoke.

Simon’s chest was shaking, though Baz could still feel the hard press of his cock between them. Every omega instinct told Baz to just give in and look after his alpha right there, but with the dregs of his control, he held back.

“Simon. It’s okay,” Baz whispered against Simon’s ear, combing his fingers through his hair. He jerked his chin towards the door, hoping Penny would understand that she should leave. Her whole body was stiff with terror, but she shook her head and stayed right where she was. Baz had to give her some credit—she was braver than he ever would’ve thought. He turned his attention back to Simon. “Simon, please just let go of the power. For me.”

Baz felt Simon’s body shake, felt the increasing hum of power as it surged to a brilliant peak, and then it was gone. There was barely time for Baz to realize how empty he felt before Simon collapsed against him. Penny moved in to help him pick Simon up, and they hauled Simon over his shoulder.

Together, they staggered out of the chapel and out onto the lawn. Baz set Simon down as gently as he could manage and then collapsed beside him on the grass. With the last of his strength he stretched one arm out to pull Simon in against him.

His vision grew spotty, and drifting off into blackness, Baz had the briefest thought that it was strange to find that the sun had only just fully come up.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully nobody feels let down by the lack of a final huge battle. Normally I love writing that sort of stuff, but I kind of wanted to keep to the almost abrupt and unsettled way things ended in Carry On. There will be a climax of another type in the next chapter though 😉


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slides a chapter of porn across the table* Uh...happy second last chapter?
> 
> I definitely need to give credit to my beta reader for the level of filth in this chapter. Back in the summer when I finished the first draft, her response was pretty much yeah, it's good, but could it be a bit more? And so I went back and ended up with this.

It wasn’t clear how or when Simon had returned to his room. One moment the Mage was standing over him and the next he was lying in bed, a sheet draped across his body and the smell of burnt sugar surrounding him. Flashes of memory—his body lit up with power, Baz saying something to him—came and went, but they just caused the vice wrapped around his skull to tighten.

Even lying still, his eyes shut, Simon’s whole body was sore. And not just the burn through his muscles, but an ache in his joints and a painful pressure in his glands. He felt like he was about to go into rut, or had just been through one.

A cool hand slid along his shoulder and Simon whimpered at the relief of it. The slow sweep of the caress moved up to the base of his neck and then nimble fingers started to massage the gland there. This time, Simon groaned. It was an exquisite agony followed by a mind numbing bliss as some of the pressure released.

“Don’t bother to pretend you’re still sleeping, Snow. You’re not that good at acting.”

The rumble of Baz’s voice was so close, the vibrations setting off tingles that traced the length of Simon’s spine and had his eager cock twitching.

“What happened?” Simon was surprised at how rough his voice sounded.

He cracked open one eye and looked up at where Baz was sitting beside him on the bed. Omega pheromones spilled out into the room as Baz’s fingers continued their ministrations, but there was the briefest hitch in the movement of his fingers and a guarded look across his face.

“What do you remember?”

“I don’t know…there was…I went to go see the Mage.”

This time Baz did stop, and pulled his fingers back. He stared down at Simon, his gaze weighted.

“I…it’s going to sound dumb,” Simon continued, “but after we…I woke up, or maybe just never slept, and I realized that there was never going to be a way to end my debt to the Mage without going to see him. And…if it was just me…I would’ve been okay to take the risks, or…I don’t know…run away…but the Mage already knew about Penny, and after Shelagh he’d know about you. I couldn’t risk either of you. So I…”

“You’re right, that does sound dumb,” Baz said, but instead of sounding haughty, Simon could hear emotion thick in Baz’s voice. He might almost have thought he could hear tears held back.

Baz’s fingers began to move again and Simon leaned into the touch, closing his eyes.

“Yeah, so I went to go see if I could reason with him. It didn’t even occur to me until after I’d followed him from the Crown and Anchor to the chapel that he was, well…” Shame, hot and vicious, rushed up through Simon. Really, he was worse than an idiot for not seeing it—for letting himself be taken off somewhere else so the Mage could—

Simon’s eyes flew open as his fingers fumbled along his temples. For a second, when he only felt faintly gritty skin, he had a moment’s hope that it had all just been a dream. The few things he thought he remembered could be chalked up to too much magic and his hormones spiralling out of control.

_ Hormones _ . Gods, one of the few things Simon could remember with absolute precision was the fierce buzz of arousal that had him drowning. Had he gone into a rut? Heat coiled low in his spine at the thought of what it would be like to go through a rut with Baz. But the lack of memory had fear turning his arousal acrid and bitter; he could only hope that he hadn’t done anything to hurt Baz.

And then his fingers skirted along torn skin and the rise of smooth bone, and everything else faded away. Pain and pleasure went straight from his brain down to his groin as he traced the shape of the protrusions.

He turned to Baz, but the sympathetic smile on his face made it clear that this wasn’t some hallucination.

“What happened to me? What did the Mage do to me? Oh, gods—what happened to the Mage? Do we have to go into hiding? Or…” Simon choked on the few words he could summon.

Baz leaned close and pressed a kiss against his hair, and then another one against each of the two bumps on his forehead. The cool softness of his lips tore at Simon’s heart even as it stoked the flames inside him higher. There was so much they had to talk about but he could feel a desperate hunger sweeping in and taking over.

“The Mage is dead.”

Simon wanted so badly to just feel relief and be able to move on.

“Did you? Or Penny?”

“No. We got to the chapel just as the Mage…you were the one. Whatever he did triggered a power surge through you and he was thrown back.”

“And what did he do to me?”

He felt Baz’s heavy exhale against his forehead, followed by Baz pressing his chin against the top of Simon’s head.

“Bunce is still poring over her books. There was a lot that happened.”

Simon hated the way Baz’s words felt like he was picking his way across a field of ice. He just needed to know how bad it was.

“Did I…? Did I do anything after I…after I…”

“You were blown back as well, and when you came around you didn’t seem to have any awareness. Just…” Simon hung on the pause in Baz’s words, until Baz finally said, “You managed to scare me, Snow.”

Simon felt the blow of those words in his stomach and he tried to pull away. But rather than letting him, Baz pulled him closer. His lips trailed down Simon’s face until he pulled Simon into a claiming kiss. His tongue surged into Simon’s mouth, their teeth clacking together, and when he finally pulled back they were both panting heavily.

Storm grey eyes locked with Simon’s as Baz cupped Simon’s cheek.

“Snow, I was so scared for you. The whole bloody chapel was about to come down, and fool that I am, I couldn’t leave until I found you. Couldn’t leave without you, after I found you.”

Simon’s heart was beating heavy in his chest, pressure building up like he was about to explode and the shimmering haze of heat starting to ramp up.

“Baz,” Simon said, “I think you should go.”

“What? Why would I do that? I pulled you out of a collapsing building. I think I’ve earned the right to keep you under direct supervision for awhile.” Baz actually pouted as he spoke and it was near enough to burst Simon’s heart, and to remind his body of how desperately—immediately—he wanted his omega.

“I’m about to…I’m going into rut. It won’t be safe for you soon. You should go and—”

“And what? Miss out on all of that unchecked libido? Or all of your knots? I think not,” Baz said before he pulled back and dropped his hands, his gaze turning shuttered. “Oh. Unless. Right. Of course.”

Baz slid off the bed and was set to walk away when Simon grabbed his wrist.

“Wait.”

Dark hair spilled out around Baz’s face as he stared down at the floor and Simon reached up to push it back behind one ear, delighting in the pale flush that rose up in Baz’s cheeks.

“I won’t be able to control it,” Simon said.

“Of course not. My heat might not be exactly the same but I do know something about this.”

“And what if something happens—”

“Simon,” Baz said, turning his gaze back up to him. “Don’t be an idiot. I don’t care what sort of overpowered alpha you think you are;  _ I’m  _ much more likely to hurt you. When we were in the underground—when you fed me outside the workshop—did it ever occur to you what might happen if I just kept feeding? I’m a vampire first and omega second. Unless you plan to set this room on fire, I can handle whatever happens. I’ve seen you possessed by more power than your physical body could hold, and not once were you close to harming me.”

“That almost feels like a declaration of love,” Simon whispered, smiling weakly.

“It’s a declaration of something,” Baz said before he kissed Simon again.

This time, as the heat reached fever pitch, Simon gave himself up to it. His thoughts burned away in the blaze, and every sense dulled down until all he was aware of was the sweet smell of omega and the return of Baz’s fingers to his neck. Except it wasn’t enough.

Over top of the sugary scent there was too much else—bergamot, cyprus, grime—and there were far too many layers between them. Simon rose up, his lips still feasting on Baz’s, and gripped the collar of his omega’s shirt. He yanked until Baz was kneeling on the bed, and then pushed him backwards. He took a moment to enjoy the sight of Baz wide-eyed and staring up at him before he ripped Baz’s shirt open. He pushed the cloth away and pressed his nose to the stretch of pale skin.

“Beautiful,” Simon growled, before he claimed one of Baz’s pale nipples in his mouth.

His omega groaned as he worked the sensitive flesh with his teeth and lips, and was rewarded with a wave of burnt sugar smell. Baz’s fingers grasped at the bedclothes before they worked their way to Simon’s shoulders, tugging at his shirt.

Simon’s body demanded that he strip off both their trousers and sink himself into Baz until he was balls deep. The need to knot was near painful, but Simon had just enough thought left to know that he wanted to hear his omega come apart first. He wanted Baz panting and wild-eyed, begging Simon to fill him up so that there could be no doubt that Baz belonged to him.

He swept the pads of his fingers up the lean muscles of Baz’s chest, fascinated by the gooseflesh that followed. Ruthlessly, he teased out every sensitive spot until Baz was panting beneath him, his hips rocking up in a plea for attention. When Simon finally trailed his fingers to the waistband of Baz’s trousers, he could see the urgent press of Baz’s cock, a dark stain blooming across the fabric.

Simon’s cock pulsed and he tore at Baz’s trousers until finally he knelt between Baz’s legs and arranged the omega so that he could see the slick leaking out of him. Slowly he trailed one finger through the slick, circling the omega’s tight hole, before he pushed inside. Baz’s answering gasp and the clench of his body was headier than any spell.

Baz reached forward to grab Simon’s cock in his smooth cold hands. The feel of it was near enough to send Simon over the edge, and he desperately fumbled at the base, trying to hold back his orgasm. But Baz was merciless, trailing his fingers over the slit and through the pre-cum there.

“Simon, don’t fucking hold back. Whatever you need, take it. I want this.”

And before Simon could even react, Baz let go of Simon’s cock and grabbed hold of his face to pull him close. Simon had thought that Baz was going to kiss him, but instead his clever lips went to Simon’s forehead. Simon bucked at the first feel of Baz’s mouth against his horns, and when he felt the sharp scrape of teeth, Simon’s whole body went sharp and bright. The room faded until it was just their mingled scents, the contrast between the subtle warmth of Baz’s skin and the near-scalding heat where Simon’s finger still worked inside him, and the hungry look Baz was giving him. His release tore through him, fierce and inevitable and not enough. Even as he shuddered over top of Baz, collapsing to press him into the mattress, the fire didn’t subside. If anything, that release only made his cock ache even harder.

“These definitely have some use,” Baz said, pressing a final kiss to each horn and then following a random path of licks and kisses down Simon’s face to his neck and across his collarbone.

“What are you doing?”

“These moles,” Baz said between kisses, “Have been driving me mad. They’re like a bloody map, or a trail of breadcrumbs.”

He stopped on one particular mole and took his time. With each pass of Baz’s tongue, Simon felt his heart speed up and tingles spiral outwards.

“Later.” He grabbed Baz’s wrists and pinned them with one hand, reaching back down with the other to ruthlessly work Baz open around his fingers. Once he had three fingers sliding easily through Baz’s slick entrance, he lined himself up and thrust forward.

Simon’s world narrowed down to the way Baz’s body sucked him in and the wet heat that gripped him. He set a relentless pace and felt Baz quake around him, pulling him over the edge. 

_ Still not enough. _

He stared at Baz’s flushed cock starting to soften, felt his fluttering pulse beneath his fingers, and knew that it was still not enough. He wanted to fill Baz up until the omega was bursting with his cum.

His own cock hadn’t so much as softened with the orgasm, and Simon resumed his rhythm. Baz keened, twitching from the over-stimulation, but Simon saw Baz’s cock respond and heard his whispered demands for more.

Baz arched his back, stretching forward to demand a kiss. It was aggressive—claiming Simon—and when Simon pulled up to catch his breath, Baz caught his lip with the edge of one canine. Simon’s tongue poked at the cut, salty copper exploding through his mouth. Baz’s body clenched hard around him, his gaze fixed on the blood.

Magic began to well up under Simon’s skin and pool heavy in his gut until he thought that he would burst with it. As they kissed, Baz’s tentative strokes against the cut turned bolder until he was sucking on Simon’s lip, Simon’s magic pouring over into him.

Baz drew tight, his wet heat clenching down hard around Simon, and Simon growled in satisfaction at the thought of his magic filling his mate just as surely as he’d be filled with cum. But still, it wasn’t enough.

Simon braced one hand on the bed, the other cupping Baz’s neck, and pounded his hips forward, setting a brutal pace. He should’ve been worried about whether it was too rough for Baz, but he couldn’t think past the wet slide around his cock and the need to go harder, deeper—

With a ragged breath, Baz pulled back from the kiss and shoved at Simon’s shoulders until Simon was on his back. Then Baz was straddling him, lining himself up with Simon’s cock to sink down with a gratifying sigh. Simon stretched up to demand another kiss, and Baz leaned close, his fingers sinking into Simon’s hair and wrapping around the horns. Simon’s cock pulsed at the touch as magic swelled between them.

And then, Baz started to move. His hips rose and fell as he rode Simon, and he gripped Simon’s horns tighter, thumbs creating an exquisite agony of pleasure as they rubbed over the seam where the flesh gave way. Simon grabbed hold of Baz’s hips, helping him rise up only to then slam him back down against his own rocking hips.

When Baz came again, his fists tugging at Simon’s horns like a mirror of what his body was doing to Simon’s cock, Simon’s release was ripped out of him. It came on with a roar, brilliant and white, as he poured out everything from himself into Baz—cum, blood, and magic.

He continued to rock up into Baz through the stars and the ripples of pleasure that traced every straining muscle, until his knot caught the rim of Baz’s hole and he heard his omega’s keening cry, and the two of them collapsed boneless across the bed.

*** 

They cycled through enough rounds that Simon lost count of the number of times they both came. Simon was pretty sure that it had been daylight when they started, and as he woke up to the blaze of early dawn, he couldn’t say with any certainty whether it was the next day or the day after that.

His muscles were sore enough for it to have been a week, and his throat was raw, but none of it took away from the satisfaction that clung to every muscle and fibre. Simon could smell Baz all over him, every breath heavy with their mingled scents, and he could feel Baz’s fingers laced through his, their palms pressed tight together.

“Don’t watch me sleep,” Baz murmured against his shoulder.

“I’ve got better things to do than watch you sleep.”

Simon lifted their hands up to brush a kiss across Baz’s knuckles, and he was rewarded with a small smile that lifted Baz’s lips. Slowly, Baz opened his eyes to stare up at Simon.

“Has the rut finally cleared? You feel a little cooler.”

“Ah. Yeah. Thanks.”

Baz rolled his eyes and then pressed a kiss of his own against Simon’s bare shoulder on top of one of his moles.

“You and those moles, huh?”

“Apparently.”

There was a long stretch of quiet as they stayed cuddled up, giving Simon the time to wonder what would happen next. Somewhere, Penny probably had a chart of all of the different tasks that would need to be done, but Simon certainly couldn’t imagine what any of them were. His thoughts only stretched far enough for him to feel an edge of dread tearing at the peace in the small room.

“I guess it’s probably time that we go and find Bunce,” Baz said as if he could read Simon’s thoughts.

“Probably. I’m surprised she didn’t burst in here.”

“I rather suspect that after what happened in the chapel she knew better.”

Simon took a shaky breath and looked out at the brightening sky. He wanted to stay right where they were, where he knew exactly where they stood and it was easy enough to pretend that all of the differences in their stature meant nothing.

“Let’s go then. I guess it’s time to see what happens when you kill one of the most powerful men in Watford.”

  
  



	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg so it's wild to think that this is the last chapter. I have to give so many thanks to nekoshka who was my patient beta reader through the whole first draft last spring, and then was willing to reread and edit once I started to post in the summer.
> 
> So many thanks to those of you who have been following along, and especially to the lovely souls who've been leaving comments. They always make my day and I read them about a billion times before I reply.
> 
> ***ALSO, IT WAS A DOUBLE POST TODAY. IF YOU HAVEN'T READ A FINAL CHAPTER OF SMUT, CHECK OUT THE CHAPTER BEFORE THIS ONE***

“So, I’ve been doing some reading.”

Simon never liked it when Penny started that way; it was always a given that what she had been reading was bad. Simon had thought he was ready for whatever she might have to tell him, but hearing those words he wasn’t so sure anymore.

“Bunce, stop trying to look clever and just tell us,” Baz said.

Penny glared at Baz across their makeshift workplace, dropping a heavy book onto the crate that acted as a table between them.

“With what I saw, and what little we know about the chapel and the Mage’s research, I think that he might’ve unlocked some sort of latent traits in Simon.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well…I think…” Penny plucked and twisted at her ring, her eyes not meeting his.

“It means that Bunce suspects that you are a tiefling. Part demon.” Baz’s voice was steady with no inflection, like it meant absolutely nothing. Like Simon wasn’t being told he was a monster.

Penny sighed, but still nodded.

“It just makes sense. The magic all through the chapel was the same as that one time we were in the tunnels. I know you thought it was another type of wild magic, but…I looked it up and there’s only one wild magic, and the way it behaved…Magic isn’t supposed to have any will of its own, but sometimes when it’s connected to the abyss, it can be  _ off _ .”

“Okay, so the magic wasn’t what I thought, but…what if…” Simon’s thoughts spun out too quickly for him to gather them up and a creaking pain grabbed hold of his chest.

“Simon, you have  _ horns. _ And the amount of power that you held back in the chapel—that you’ve always been able to hold. It just makes so much sense.”

“That could’ve just been the Mage’s spell. Whatever it was he made me drink. He drew some symbols on me—”

Penny held up her hand to cut him off.

“Believe me, I looked through everything. If those traits were temporary then maybe it could’ve been a spell, but…it’s been well over a day and none of it has faded. The only spells that have that ability are ones that pull someone’s natural traits to the surface.”

Simon stood up. He had to move. If he stayed still he was certain that everything was going to collapse in on him. He inhaled sharply, wondering why all of the air had been pulled out of the room.

He stared blankly at the rough floor beneath his feet as he paced. Penny and Baz were whispering to each other, low and tense, but Simon ignored it. Just more noise crowding him out, tearing away at him.

Had the room always felt this small? Simon walked towards the door, desperate for sunshine and the feel of wind on his face, but before he’d reached it he froze.

_ Can I even go outside? _

He still didn’t know if anything had been done about the Mage, if there was anyone who would be coming after him. There was no way Simon could completely evade the Watch; if he’d still been a member of the Thief’s Grave, maybe, but that bridge had long since been burned. And was it safe for him to be out among other people if he was…like this?

Simon spun around to look at Penny and Baz. The two were still arguing— _ about me _ , he realized, and the realization came like a slam to the jaw.

“I have to go.”

Both stopped mid sentence.

“Why?” Penny said.

At the same time, Baz said, “Don’t be so dramatic, Snow.”

“This isn’t safe.  _ I’m _ not safe. If…if you’re right…I should—”

The few precious dreams that Simon had allowed himself to build fell to ash, and he realized how foolish he’d been to think that he might’ve been able to have something of his own.

It had been a barely formed idea, but Simon had started to think that one day, if they could ever come out ahead, he and Penny might form their own workshop. She’d be the one doing the magic and research; he’d just do heavy lifting—taking jobs to bring in cash—but it had felt like something bright that he could hold onto. There was no way it would be possible now; Watford hadn’t wanted to accept him when he was just some brat who’d wandered into town, but as a half-demon he’d be a pariah. Penny, and all the work she did, would be tainted by his association.

And Baz…

Simon’s gut twisted, sharp and painful, at the fact that this would mean the end of any possible future with Baz. 

Cool fingers stroked along the side of his neck and wrapped around his nape.

“I don’t know what’s going through your simple brain right now, but stop it.”

“They’re all perfectly rational—”

“I can smell your panic. You’re supposed to be the alpha. You’re supposed to be  _ my _ alpha. That means you get to be the one who’s stoic and brave and territorial. And it means you don’t bloody leave.”

“I wasn’t…” Simon couldn’t even finish the lie. “I’m a rubbish alpha. I think you’d be better off rid of me.”

Baz pulled against Simon’s neck, urging him closer until their bodies fit together and Baz’s nose was buried against his neck, the calming smell of omega surrounding Simon.

“You  _ are _ rubbish, but I’m pretty sure I’m stuck with you. Who else is going to be daft enough to want a vampire omega?”

Simon relaxed into Baz’s embrace. It wasn’t enough to silence the tar-like fear but it dimmed it down to a manageable level.

Eventually, Baz led him back to his seat, grabbing Simon’s hand with his own and interlacing their fingers.

“Don’t get the wrong idea,” Baz said, smiling softly. “This is so you can’t run away.”

Simon returned the smile, though his own still felt a little weak. He took a deep breath and then turned to where Penny was staring at their hands, shaking her head.

“Something you want to say, Bunce?” Baz drawled.

“You know what? This isn’t even in the column of things that need to be answered  _ today _ , never mind right now. Simon, if you’re done throwing a wobbly then I think that this discovery about your magic is actually good. We tried to do all of your training centred around what works for most mages, but if your magic is so different…I think that we can find some ways for you to get some control at the very least.” Penny’s voice started to pick up speed and enthusiasm as she went until she’d grabbed a pencil and her notebook, making several lists as she spoke.

“What about the Mage?” Simon said.

Penny stopped writing and her face grew pained.

“What about him?”

“Does anyone else know that he’s dead? Are the Watch going to come for me? Is the guild?”

Penny looked down at her notes.

“The Watch has been and gone from the chapel. As have half of the Old Families in Watford. I tried to keep you out of it but, well…I guess we can be grateful that the Mage wasn’t much liked around town. And that the guild is mercenary enough that I suspect most of them will be pleased not to have him pulling strings from the shadows.”

“So just like that it’s over? Not even a fine or a few weeks in the cells?” Simon’s voice rose as he spoke, growing louder. He didn’t even know why he was upset. This was all to his benefit, but it didn’t feel that way. 

“There was some talk of a fine for the destruction to the chapel—the rubble ended up all over part of the cemetery grounds—but when I pointed out that it was a chapel dedicated to the Abyss, they backed down. And…after everyone saw the damage…you’ve been marked. Might bring us some business and it might bring us some trouble, but…” Penny shrugged and gave Simon a lopsided smile. “We survived.”

“Yeah, I suppose we did.”

They quickly wrapped up their meeting before Penny ducked out, muttering that her parents had decided to supervise her work more closely for the foreseeable future.

“But,” she said as she paused at the doorway, “it won’t last. It never lasts. Just wait. They’ll have me under curfew for a few weeks—maybe a month or two—and then it will be back to normal.”

Simon wanted to believe her, but he wasn’t so sure. Even if the Bunces hadn’t learned about his demonic ancestry or any of the specifics of what had happened, he could feel that this time was different. Penny would stop being able to join him on jobs, in much the same way that Agatha had, until he was left on his own. Still, he managed to smile and wave goodbye like it didn’t hurt.

“Don’t look that way,” Baz whispered, leaning against Simon’s shoulder. “Whatever you’re thinking, you’re wrong. This isn’t the end for you and Bunce.”

“No?”

“I should hope not. You’re far too much for me to take care of on my own. I’ll need Bunce to keep you busy while I’m finishing up at school.”

The two of them hadn’t talked in any concrete terms about the future, but hearing Baz talk about leaving Watford made his heart lurch and stomach cramp.

“Or I could just look after myself?” Pain spidered out from his chest as he spoke.

Baz leaned forward and pressed a kiss against Simon’s neck.

“I’ve seen what you taking care of yourself looks like and I’d rather find you in one piece when I come back to Watford in the Fall.”

Simon felt the shape of Baz’s words against his skin and it took him a moment to actually understand what Baz had said.

“You’re coming back?”

“Don’t be a numpty Snow, of course I’m coming back. The monastery has a few rather good books on human hybrids and alternative magics that I’d like to get a good look at, and there are a few projects I need to wrap up, and then I think it’s finally time that I come back to Watford. Permanently.”

“You’re coming back to me.”

Baz pulled back so he could get a better look at him, and Simon’s cheeks went warm.

“I’ll probably be back at Fiona’s—gods, I’m going to have to explain all of this to her—but yes. I don’t know if you realized this, Snow, but once the Grimms and Pitches have claimed something, they don’t let go.”

“You make me sound like a necklace or a piece of land.”

“Both would give me a great deal less of a headache.”

Simon laughed and then pulled Baz back in for a kiss. They stayed entwined until Simon’s hunger was impossible to ignore. Then together they walked out, heading towards one of the taverns where Simon promised Baz they could get the best roast beef.

It wasn’t perfect or tidy—so far as endings went, it felt more like a beginning—but for once, Simon thought he could see a path forward.

“I hope you’re prepared for things to be a bloody mess,” Simon said, grabbing Baz’s hand in his.

Without even turning to look at him, Baz squeezed his hand back.

“I’d expect nothing less.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading/commenting/leaving kudos! ❤️
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr at thewesterndoor


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